


No One But You

by DonnieTheFu



Series: Little Freddie [9]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Afterlife, Character Death, Cocaine, Death, Depression, Dreams, Drinking to Cope, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Loss, Loss of Control, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Memories, Non-Explicit Sex, Religious Content, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Sad, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-01-05 09:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnieTheFu/pseuds/DonnieTheFu
Summary: After his father's death from AIDS, Little Freddie and the surviving members of Queen are in despair while mourning his loss.Little Freddie and the other Queen children (Felix Taylor, Jimmy May, & Robert Deacon) have followed in their fathers' footsteps and recently formed their own band, The Sons of Queen. They are scheduled to make their debut at Freddie's tribute concert.But to Little Freddie everything feels like it is falling apart, and he feels burdened by his troubles and the drama that ensues following his father's death, and his need to try and fix it all.That is until he has a dream in which his father has an urgent message and a mission for him that will change everything...





	1. Dream - Little Freddie

**Author's Note:**

> I would really appreciate no criticism (constructive or otherwise), or negativity in the comments section, please. This is just my hobby that I do for fun. Thank you! :)
> 
> Copyright © May 20, 2020 DonnieTheFu All Rights Reserved
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any semblance between original characters and real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author in no way represents the companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this work. The likeness of historical/famous figures have been used fictitiously; the author does not speak for or represent these people. All opinions expressed in this work are the author’s, or fictional.***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING: Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit make a guest appearance in this story, but in a humorous sort of way for comedic relief. But if that sort of thing is going to bother you, then you may not want to read ahead, or read ahead with caution. It is not my intention to offend anyone. That is the last thing I want to do.*

**April 20, 1992 – Wembley Stadium, London, England, UK**

Little Freddie sat, brow furrowed, unconsciously twisting his father’s ring around his finger. _ Little Freddie. _ He supposed the “Little” was irrelevant now, it would just be Freddie from now on… A gentle knock at the door caused him to jump, tearing him from his thoughts.

“Come-Come in,” he said with a cough. He stilled his hands, placing them on the armrests of the chair. The door opened. It was David Wigg with the Daily Express. David had been close with his father, and one of the few reporters he had ever trusted.

David paused in the doorway for a moment. The uncanny resemblance between Little Freddie and his father was certainly disconcerting. A bit disturbing even. If it weren't for the fact that they were at Freddie's Tribute concert, he would have sworn it was Freddie himself sat there in that chair, albeit a younger version. He recovered himself quickly and offered his hand.

"How are you, Freddie?" And that felt odd too, saying those words, knowing his friend was gone, and yet here before him sat an exact replica.

"As well as I can be, considering the circumstances," was the reply.

And that voice. Goose pimples spread over his flesh, causing the little hairs on his arms to stand up. "I just want you to know that all of us at the Daily Express are so very sorry and we offer our heart-felt condolences on the passing of your father," he said.

"Thank you."

David pulled his hand back from the handshake a bit too quickly perhaps, but he tried to cover it by immediately grabbing a chair and pulling up close. "Before we get started, Freddie, I just want to make you aware, as I did your father, that if you are to give me an interview, I can't be held responsible for what is actually, ultimately printed. That's up to the editor."

"Sure. That's alright. I understand. It's fine," Freddie agreed.

David spoke into his tape recorder. "Interview with Freddie Mercury, Jr., son of the late Freddie Mercury, Sr., David Wigg talking to him at Wembley Stadium in Wembley, London, England in 1992 on the night of his father's tribute concert." Then he turned to Freddie. "Alright, let's start off with something simple, Freddie, shall we?"

"Mmm," Freddie agreed, taking a sip from his beer.

"How old are you, Freddie?"

"I'm eighteen. I just turned eighteen a couple of months ago, actually, back in February."

"And you have a sister, Kashmira, is that right?"

"Yeah that's right."

"And how old is she now?"

"She's eleven, going on twenty-one," Freddie laughed. "No, but anyway, she's studying opera and ballet, and she's really quite good, I must say. And in her own way I think she feels like she's following in our father's footsteps, because he was very fond of opera and ballet as you know."

"Yes," David smiled.

"It's important to her. Well, not just to her, but to me as well, to both of us, to do something that our father would approve of. Something that would make him proud."

"And have you any other siblings?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do, actually. My mother, Mary Austin, has gone on to have two more children with an artist, a man named Piers Cameron, so Kashmira and I now have two half-brothers. Richard is two years old now. And Jamie is two months old. And they really are just the best little things ever.”

"How nice. Now, speaking earlier of following in your father's footsteps, Freddie, it seems you yourself are doing just that. You've formed your own band, The Sons of Queen. How did that come about?"

"Well, initially we had tossed around a couple of other names: Princess-"

"Why Princess?"

"Well, we couldn't very well call ourselves Queen. My father had already stolen that name." Freddie laughed.

"No, I suppose not," David chuckled.

"We also considered calling ourselves Queen II for a while. But in the end we decided to just keep it simple and we went with The Sons of Queen, because that's what we are. We _ are _ the sons of Queen. We've all just sort of stepped into our father's roles, I guess. I'm the lead singer and play the piano. Jimmy May's on the guitar. Felix Taylor is the drummer. And Robert Deacon's our bassist. But we have to be careful. He's sixteen. Still got a bedtime and everything, you know." Another laugh. "But I think that's really unique and something that sets us apart. You'd be hard-pressed to find another band with that sort of history and experience."

"And you've had quite the impressive start. You're already signed on with EMI/Capitol Records. And you've got not one, but two hit singles that went straight to the top of the charts: 'The Sons of Queen' and 'My Father's Son'."

"Yes, those we recorded back in November and December, in the first few weeks following my father's death."

"Would you say there's a lot of pressure to outperform or perform as well as your fathers' band?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Certainly there's tremendous pressure in that regard. I mean, us being who we are, it did help quite a bit in getting things started. It would be foolish to deny that. But at the same time, we want to have our own different kind of sound separate of our fathers, which I think we do. We don't want to sort of ride on their coattails, as it were, or stand in their shadow our whole career. That, that's just not how these things should be done, in my-my opinion at least. We by no means want to be considered a Queen tribute band."

“Alright, Freddie, let’s talk a little bit now about what it was like having such a legendary man as Freddie Mercury, as a father.”

Freddie paused a moment to think about what he would like to say. “Well, I suppose like anything else, it had its good and not so good points about it. Um…for instance one obvious thing is that he was gone quite a lot – working in the studio or on tour. And there were some stretches where we would go quite a rather long time without seeing him at all. Though he did phone us every single night to speak to us – us and the cats. The cats of course,” he laughed. “But he was by no means an absentee father. Not at all. When he was around, he would spend as much time as possible with Kashmira and me. And he would even take us on tour with him sometimes, you know, when school permitted. [I recall this one time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771957/chapters/49359002)-" Freddie smiled, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes drift upward in remembrance. "-my father had taken me on tour with him to France, if I remember correctly. I suppose I must have been something like six years old and Felix was probably somewhere around eight. Anyway, we were squabbling over something childish - a pair of drumsticks, I think. And, uh, we ended up accidentally knocking over a whole stack of amps and taking out some of the lighting equipment. Got in a lot of trouble for that. We were quite the little hell-raisers sometimes," he laughed. Then he turned serious. "But a lot of people, when they hear about my father's crazy, wild, partying days or whatever, they tend to think, _ Oh God, he must have been the worst father imaginable. It must have been terrible growing up with a father like that. _But he was never like that around Kashmira and I. He was the kindest, gentlest, most caring, loving father someone could ever hope to have, and I'm just glad that someone turned out to be me, and that I've had the privilege and honor to call him my father...He was a good man, always laughing. I remember how he always used to hold our hands when we were little." Freddie turned his hand over and stared down at his palm. "He taught us strength and showed us love, and told us to follow our dreams no matter what anybody else had to say."

"Freddie, what would you say is your fondest memory of your father?"

“Oh, dear. There are so many it would be hard to pin it down. Um…” Freddie shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. “I guess if I had to pick just one…[it would have to be when I was eleven years old.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925833/chapters/49748021) I was having a terrible time in school. There were these boys, about five of them I think, who were always bullying me and picking on me. And uh…my father, he came into my room and sat down with me and we had a very nice heart to heart talk about it. And the next Saturday was Live Aid. And when we got there my mother, sister, and I, we already had reserved seating arranged for us, but my father, he put his hand on my shoulder and he said, ‘I want Freddie with me.’ So he took me with him to the backstage area to his dressing trailer, because each member of the band had their own dressing trailer, you see. And when we sat down he put his arm around me like this and pulled me close. And for the next hour, or however long it was until they went on, he sat there bragging and fawning over me to all these A-list celebrity rock stars that were coming by his trailer to say hullo. And to me at eleven that was just like amazing, you know. I just thought _wow_, my dad really loves me and he's proud of me. And that was the best feeling in the whole world. He did it to boost my self-esteem, and it worked. It gave me that last little bit of confidence I needed to face my tormentors, which I did the next Monday at school. To great effect, by the way."

"Yes? And what did you say?"

"Oh, I can't say that!" Freddie said with a laugh, dismissing the question with a wave. "Let us just say I left them with their mouths hanging open. I got in trouble with the headmaster for what I'd said, as you can well imagine, and got sent home from school with a note for my father to sign. He was hysterical with laughter when he read it, even though he was the one who told me what to say! He was having me reenact the scene for him and the whole bit. But, going back to Live Aid for a moment, when it was time for them to go onstage, I got to watch him perform from the wings. And for the next twenty minutes, I saw the way he controlled that crowd of seventy-two thousand people. He held the whole world in the palm of his hand. And even though he was my father, it was still astounding, breathtaking to see something like that. The roar of that crowd was just exhilarating. And in that moment I thought to myself, _ yes, this is what I want to do when I grow up. I want to be just like my father. _And now I guess I will. I'm on my way at least. But anyway, I really would say that has been the best, and certainly the most influential day of my entire life up until this point. So that's why I say it's the fondest memory I have of him. It's the best memory I have of the two of us together. So yeah…" Freddie paused for a moment to light a cigarette. He took a deep drag.

"Now Freddie, this next question might be a bit more difficult to answer than the previous ones..." Freddie didn't say anything, just exhaled the smoke slowly. "Freddie, how has your father's death affected you, both emotionally and artistically?"

"Artistically speaking, I think anytime you have a huge life change or suffer a loss, the various emotions of it spark creativity. Especially with a loss, you start thinking - how best can I honor this person and their life? And oftentimes a lot of artistic and creative things will come out of that. As far as my personal life, I've experienced the same emotions anyone experiences upon the loss of their father. The last four years have been very difficult for our family. I was thirteen when my father was diagnosed with AIDS, and I was old enough at that time to realize it was a death sentence. So my father's inevitable death was always there in the room with us, hanging over our heads. And it was terrible to see him in so much pain, slowly wasting away to a shadow of the man he once was. But despite all that, my father never complained, never felt sorry for himself, never blamed anyone except himself for what was happening to him. He said, 'In the end, all the mistakes and all the excuses are down to me. I can't pass the buck.' And another thing he always said was _ life is for living_. He said he still had a life to live, even though he had less time left to do it than most people do, and he wanted to live what life was left to him, not sit fading away in self-pity. When he was well he would always give everything he had to his performances while he was up there on stage. And when he got sick, none of that changed. He wasn't well enough to perform anymore, but he threw himself into his work, slaving away in the studio up until the last few weeks of his life. Even though he was in excruciating pain all of the time, he never gave up or gave in. He'd just throw back a shot of vodka and keep going. And he just kept on going that way until he couldn't anymore. And that's when he decided to stop taking the meds that were keeping him alive. He knew he'd done all he could do, and he said, _ alright, I'll go now. _He was very brave, and I only hope I can be that brave when my own time comes." Freddie pulled again on his cigarette.

"Alright, Freddie, one last question here- how will you be remembering your father tonight at his tribute concert?"

"I and The Sons of Queen will be going on stage tonight along with Brian, Roger, and John to perform the last song of the evening. It's a very beautiful, meaningful song that Brian and Roger wrote together in memory of my father. It's called No-One But You."

David clicked off his tape recorder. "Thank you, Freddie. That's all. I appreciate your being willing to talk to me today, and share your memories of your father with me. I know it's a hard day."

Freddie nodded. "Sure."

David stood up to go, but then stopped for a moment and turned back to Freddie.

"Is that your father's ring?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" Freddie looked up, he hadn't realized he'd begun to play with the ring again. "Oh, yes. It's my father's ring. He gave it to me the day before he died, actually, while he was still awake and coherent enough to speak to us and express to us his wishes."

"Freddie, I'd just like to say, it really is such a tragedy losing a great man like your father, and not just a tragedy for the world as a whole, but also a personal tragedy for me as well. He was a good friend, and I miss him terribly."

"Thank you," Freddie said, shaking David's hand once more. Then David left and Freddie was alone. He sat there a moment in the stillness and the quiet. Then he tilted back his glass and drained the rest of his beer.

*******

Freddie sat there chain-smoking and getting progressively drunk as the evening wore on. His father’s tribute concert had begun at 6 PM, but he’d remained cloistered backstage, seeking refuge in the numbing effects of nicotine and alcohol. He thought he’d be safe from intrusion, here in the small secluded backroom where he’d given the interview to David Wigg. But they’d jolly well found him alright. _ He should have locked the fucking door. _ But having so much on his mind already, the thought had escaped him. Besides, he didn’t know if he would have been able to summon the strength to get up out of his chair, walk all the way across the room, pull the door closed, lock it, return to his chair, and sit down. That seemed like far too many tasks to try and accomplish at one time. He just wanted to sit right here in this chair and not move, or think about anything…forever. Maybe just turn into a statue that they’d find a thousand years from now. A man sat leaning back in his chair, a lit cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. He wondered if he thought about it really hard, perhaps he could feel his fingertips begin to turn to stone, and the feeling slowly begin to spread, to his knuckles, his wrists, his forearms…But just then there’d been a boisterous knock, and before he could answer, the door had swung open, and a whole tide of people had surged in, trapping him. And more just kept flowing in.

He didn't know if he could endure one more hug, or hearing another person say, "I'm so sorry for your loss", and then him having to shake their hand and say, 'Thank you', with that curt nod and tight-lipped smile. If only he could just get to the bathroom, surely he'd find some peace and quiet there. He could see it just there on the other side of the hall through the open doorway. He'd tried standing up several times now, but it was like waves at the ocean constantly knocking him back down. So finally he'd just given up. Though when someone had offered another one of those all too common platitudes, "If there's anything I can do for you, anything at all, just let me know", Freddie had responded with a bit of a laugh, "Well, actually, I'd quite like another beer."

"Oy! Let's have another beer over here!" the man called. Someone popped off the cap, and the ice-cold bottle had been passed across the room and placed in Freddie's hand.

"Thank you." Freddie held the cold bottle against his forehead for a moment, letting the coolness soothe him. Then he took a sip, nursing the beer while he planned his escape, although the alcohol probably wasn't doing much to improve his mental faculties and critical thinking skills at the moment. But help soon presented itself in the form of Felix. It was almost time to go on stage and they’d been looking everywhere for him. He struggled to his feet, stumbling, and would have fallen if Felix hadn’t caught his arm.

“Whoa there, Freddie, mate! Are you alright?” he asked, the concern apparent in his voice.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,” Freddie mumbled. “I just need the loo.” So somehow between the two of them, (Felix wasn’t above a gruff _ Move! _ or _ Shove over! _ or even a good _ Fuck off!_, and a sharp elbow to the ribs), they managed to get Freddie to the restroom.

“I’ll just be waiting right here outside, mate,” Felix told him. So Freddie went into the toilet and shut the door behind him, and remembered to lock it this time. He leant on his hands on the bathroom counter, his head hanging down. Then he glanced up, looking at himself in the mirror. But it wasn't his face anymore. It was the face of a dead man. The face of a ghost. He straightened up and took a small compact mirror out of his pocket, opening it and setting it on the counter. He also produced a little plastic packet of white powder and began to tap out some crystals onto the mirror. Using a credit card from his wallet, he chopped up the coke crystals into a neat line across the reflective surface. He extracted a new £50 note from a wad of several, rolled it into a tube, and snorted the line of coke. He stood there staring at his reflection, the widening eyes and flushed red face. It was top quality stuff, and suddenly he didn't feel so anxious anymore. It was time for Freddie and The Sons of Queen to make their debut. And now with the drug coursing its way through his veins with every beat of his racing heart, he was ready.

*******

They stood together in the wings awaiting their signal. Everyone was on edge, jumpy. They bounced up and down on the balls of their feet, rolled their neck and shoulders from side to side, stretched arm and leg muscles, releasing nervous energy. Except for Freddie who was standing there with one leg casually crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, as calm and collected as if he did this sort of thing every day.

"Ready, Freddie?" Felix asked.

"Ready," he said. "Let's do it." When Queen and their sons stepped out on stage, the roar of the crowd was deafening, even more so when they spotted Freddie.

"Oh! Look, look! It's him! It's Little Freddie! Oh! Freddie!" All the girls cried, tears streaming down their faces. But Freddie didn't hear a sound. It was as if he were having an out of body experience, looking down upon himself from some high, far-away place. He watched himself sit down at the piano. But the moment his fingers touched the ivory keys, he was instantly back in his body, back in the present moment. When he began playing, the crowd went mad, cheering and shouting.

It had been decided that Queen would play the main part of the song, except for the piano of course, which Freddie would play throughout. Brian would provide the vocals on the first and third verses, and Roger would provide the vocals on the second verse. The Sons of Queen would then play the chorus and provide back-up vocals, with Freddie joining in with Brian and Roger to provide the main vocals. Brian began:

_A hand above the water_

_An angel reaching for the sky_

_Is it raining in Heaven?_

_Do you want us to cry?_

_And everywhere the broken-hearted_

_On every lonely avenue_

_No one could reach them_

_No one but you…_

As memories of his father washed over him in waves, Freddie felt himself drowning in despair and sorrow. It was pulling him under, dragging him down into the deep, dark depths of the abyss from which there could be no return. But the cocaine and music kept him buoyed just enough for him to tread the surface, keeping his head above water. A lump had formed where his throat met his chest, making every breath difficult. He swallowed painfully, but as The Sons of Queen stepped up to play, he was finally able to somehow find his voice, and he sang:

_One by one_

_Only the good die young_

_They're only flyin' too close to the sun_

_And life goes on_

_Without you…_

His words were slurred from the alcohol, and thick with emotion, but when they heard his voice, his dad's voice, the crowd went wild, absolutely out of their minds. But Freddie barely noticed, as The Sons of Queen stepped back and Roger began the second verse:

_Another tricky situation_

_I get to drownin' in the blues_

_And I find myself thinkin'_

_Well, what would you do?_

_Yes, it was such an operation_

_Forever paying every due_

_Hell, you made a sensation (sensation)_

_You found a way through (found a way through)..._

When Freddie sang the chorus for the second time, the response of the crowd was even louder:

_One by one_

_Only the good die young_

_They're only flyin' too close to the sun_

_We'll remember_

_Forever…_

Then Brian came in again with the third verse:

_And now the party must be over_

_I guess we'll never understand_

_The sense of your leaving_

_Was it the way it was planned?_

_And so we grace another table_

_And raise our glasses one more time_

_There's a face at the window_

_And I ain't never, never sayin' goodbye…_

And Freddie and The Sons of Queen once more, repeating the chorus for the third and final time:

_One by one_

_Only the good die young_

_They're only flyin' too close to the sun_

_Cryin' for nothing_

_Cryin' for no one_

_No one but you…_

Freddie sat there lost in the moment, his eyes closed, fingers still playing across the keys, until he felt the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"Freddie," Felix said his name. Freddie opened his eyes then. He hadn't realized the song had ended. He finished playing the verse, then stood up, joining Queen and the other participants of the evening's show, who had filed on stage for a final goodbye.

Roger threw his drumsticks up in the air, then came round to the microphone:

"Good night, Freddie! We love you!" 

The sound of the crowd was ear-splitting, like a shock wave pulsating through Freddie's body, vibrating every bone, right down to the marrow. John, standing near him, absolutely fell to pieces and suddenly rushed past him away from the stage with a rag over his face. Freddie watched him go, frowning to himself. Then he turned back around and kissing the tips of his fingers, reached up to touch the sky.

"Love you, Dad," he whispered, closing his hand into a fist, and bringing it slowly back down to his side.

*******

There was an after-show party at Brown's nightclub. Most of the guests were in a celebratory mood. But for Brian, Roger, and Little Freddie, it was one of undeniable sadness. Perhaps up until now they'd all been able to fool themselves somehow, trick themselves into thinking that Freddie’s absence that night was due only to a temporary indisposition. But now that the show was over, the cold, hard reality of the situation was hitting them hard. Little Freddie sat in a chair, a lit cigarette in one hand. An ashtray, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a half-empty beer bottle sat on the table beside him. His girlfriend, Mary, was sat on his left knee with her arms around his neck, her head leaning up against his shoulder.

"That's my mother's name," he'd said when they'd first met, brushing a strand of hair away from her pretty face. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She'd smiled then and he'd brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. Just a coincidence he supposed. Mary was quite a common name. There must be thousands of girls named Mary in London. But to Freddie it had just seemed right. Like destiny or fate somehow. And they'd soon grown inseparable from one another. They'd been together for two years now, but after all they'd been through lately, it felt like forever, like they'd always been together, and always would be.

Nearby Roger was propped up against the wall, just staring vacantly into space. Brian a couple of feet away, was doing the same thing. One of the guests, a musician named Spike Edney, who'd often played keyboard for Queen, came over to them. 

“How do you feel?” he asked them. 

“Can’t feel anything,” one of them replied. Freddie took a drag on his cigarette and glanced up at the television screen in a corner of the room.

"The legend, Freddie Mercury, lives on tonight...," a reporter woman in a smart red pantsuit was saying. "...through his son…" Then there was footage of Little Freddie and the others playing the evening's last song.

*******

When the after-party was over and they'd returned to the two-storey rental house they shared (in a neighbourhood of other rental houses in Kensington's Victoria Road), Mary had taken Freddie by the hand and led him to bed. She tried her best to console him with her body, lavishing him with kisses and caressing him with her gentle touch. But Freddie just couldn't do it. Not tonight. It took far too much effort then he was capable of at the moment. He sat up in bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry. I've had too much to drink," he said. Mary kissed his shoulder.

"It's alright, baby. You don't ever have to make excuses to me. I understand. It's been a hard day." Freddie decided he needed some fresh air. So, he got dressed again and put on his coat. He went down the stairs and out the back door into the small, high wooden fenced-in back garden that was theirs. He leant back against the back garden's solitary tree, and smoked a cigarette, contemplating the starry night sky. When he'd finished with his cigarette, he tossed it to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. Then he stepped out into the middle of the garden, and stood staring up at the heavens.

"Dad, I don't know if you're out there, or if you can even hear me...," he began. 

"Everything's so completely fucked up right now. Brian's depressed. John's just in bits. He's been saying he's going to retire from music and public life entirely and not have anything else to do with the band at all anymore. He said as far as he is concerned, this is it. There is no point carrying on. It is impossible to replace you," he said. 

"And you know I love Mum with all my heart, I really do, but since you've-" he couldn't bring himself to say the word _ died, _"-been away, Mum's turned into such a fucking hateful, evil-" He stopped himself there before he said something he regretted, then sighed.

"She's throwing Jim, Phoebe, and Liza (Joe) right out onto the streets, with no place to go. I offered for them to come and stay with Mary and me for as long as they need, but all three of them said no. She made them take away all the gifts they'd ever given you or else they'd be tossed right out with the rubbish, she told them. She even tried to take away the flat you'd shared with Barbara Valentin in Munich, but luckily that didn't work out for her, though she did manage to have Barbara barred from your funeral service, and Jim barred from riding in the first limousine in your funeral procession. She gave Romeo and Lily away to a shelter, just because they were the cats Jim gave you. But don't worry. As soon as I heard about it, Mary and I went straightway to the shelter. We rescued them and brought them home. They're living here with us now, and they're both being well cared for and looked after. She's turned our once beautiful home into a fortress, with the security intensified, so that now even a sparrow would need security clearance to land on the property. She's ripped down the memorial and shrine your fans had built for you along the walls at the front gate. And worst of all, Dad, she's taken away your ashes and won't tell anyone, not even Kashmira or I, what's she's done with them. I-I just don't understand. Surely none of those things are what you would have wanted to happen. And Kashmira...Kashmira misses you so. She's growing up so fast and she needs you. I need you. Why'd you have to go and leave me all alone like this?..." His voice became choked with tears then.

"You've left me far too great a burden. It's more than I can possibly bear. How the hell do you expect me to fix all of this on my own, huh?" He fell to his knees, shouting at the heavens.

"Don't you ignore me, goddamn it!" He punched his fist at the sky. "What do you want me to do, Dad?! Tell me what you want me to do! Send me a sign! A signal! Anything, so that I know that you're there and that you can hear me and that you're listening to me. Please, just help me! Please, help me! Please, help! Please! Please! Please!" He begged, collapsing on all fours and weeping in anguish…

*******

Freddie wept until there were no more tears left to cry and he was exhausted. He stood up and wrapped his arms around himself. He didn't know how long he'd been here, but it was cold now and he was shivering. He took one last look at the stars, and then went back upstairs to Mary. She lay sleeping, so he did his best not to disturb her as he got undressed and slipped into bed beside her. He lay back against the pillow with his arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering how on earth he was ever going to get to sleep with all those thoughts going round and round in his head. But slowly, little by little his eyelids began to grow heavier and heavier, his field of vision shrinking down to tiny narrow slits, until at last his eyes closed shut. 

Then just as suddenly, he found himself walking down a dark tunnel, and at the end was a light. He had no recollection at all of how he'd got there, or where he was going. But he wasn't frightened. He had this strange feeling, like something was telling him to just keep going forward, pulling him onward. As he drew closer, he heard a familiar sound - like that of a crowded stadium. Freddie broke into a jog, and then into a run, and came hurtling on, crashing headlong through the bright whiteness. He stumbled to a sudden stop, nearly losing his balance and going ass over tit. _ Perhaps these platform shoes were not the best things to be running in. _

He found himself in what appeared to be a backstage dressing room area of some sort. He could still hear the noise of the waiting crowd. And there before him was quite a comical scene. His father was sat there in a chair in nothing more than a robe and his boxer shorts, eating a bowl of cornflakes cereal. He looked much younger now, around age thirty-three perhaps, in his prime, and clearly in vibrant health. He once again had his short hair and iconic moustache.

"Dad?!" Little Freddie gasped, half-laughing. Tears had immediately sprung to his eyes and he wiped them away with the heel of his hand. But when Freddie saw his son, a look of absolute horror came over his face. He dropped the bowl of cereal and rushed over, taking his son's face in his hands.

"No! No, no, no! Freddie, you're not supposed to be here! What have you done?" He asked. But then another man spoke, and his was the most calming, tranquil voice Little Freddie had ever heard, and he was instantly at ease.

"It's alright, Freddie. He's been given a pass." 

Little Freddie looked down at himself and sure enough, hanging from a lanyard around his neck was a large piece of plastic that read in big bold letters, **BACKSTAGE PASS ACCESS ALL AREAS.**

He looked around to see where the voice had come from. And that's when he noticed for the first time that there were three other men in the room. They sat in metal folding chairs along the back wall behind his father. Little Freddie didn't know how exactly he would describe them other than rock n' roll types with medium-length hair; moustaches; and beards. The eldest among them, and who Little Freddie thought of as their leader, sat in the middle. Unlike the other two, he had short hair all of which, along with his moustache and beard, was completely white. But he didn't appear frail by any means. He still looked to have the strength of a man a third his age. The younger man who sat at his right hand was clearly his son, the resemblance unmistakable. The color of his hair and beard was dark brown, and he wore a small crucifix necklace hung around his neck. He looked so familiar, as if Little Freddie had seen his image a thousand times before, but he couldn't quite place his name, not here, not dressed like this. And they all three of them sported reflective sunglasses; dark-wash jeans with brown belts; well-worn, broken-in cowboy boots; wool-lined leather jackets; and Queen fan t-shirts.

"Who are they?" Little Freddie ventured to ask his father.

"Who, them?" Freddie said, indicating the other three men. "Oh, these guys, they're real cool. Who would've thought they were fans?" he laughed. Then he took Little Freddie's face in his hands again.

"Listen, Freddie. While you're here, there is something I need to tell you. Something I need you to do for me," he said, and there was a sense of urgency in his voice. "You've got to save Brian. You've got to tell him to live." No sooner had his father finished speaking these words, then the scene before Little Freddie slowly began to fade out around the edges, as if he were being forced back down the same tunnel from whence he came.

"No! No! What's happening? I don't want to go! I want to stay here with you!" he cried.

"You've got to hurry. There isn't much time," Freddie told him.

"But, I don't understand. Save Brian from what? What do I do? What do I say?"

"The words will be given to you, my son," the man with the crucifix necklace told him, in that same peaceful voice from earlier.

"And by the way, Freddie," his father said to him, as he slipped further away down the tunnel. "I saw you down there smoking those cigarettes, and drinking those beers, and yes, snorting that cocaine. And if you ever do that again, young man, I swear to God...Oh, sorry….I swear I'll come straight down there and I'll-I'll...Are you listening to me, young man?" And that was the last thing Little Freddie heard before everything went black...


	2. Live - Brian

Freddie awoke with a gasp.

“Meow.” Lily sat on his chest with her nose pressed up against his. He gently relocated her and sat up, reaching instinctively for Mary. But she'd already gone, to the job she absolutely insisted on having, and left him there sleeping.

Doubt flashed across his mind and Freddie hesitated, but only for a brief moment. He'd asked for a sign and a sign he'd been given, and in a more spectacular fashion then he could ever have imagined. He still didn't quite understand how exactly it was that he was to save Brian. He didn't know what he was going to do, or what he was going to say. But if his dad said Brian needed saving, then he had to at least try.

He got out of bed and began getting dressed. He quite liked this look he'd adopted, like the kind of clothes his dad and other famous rock stars had worn in the '70s - the dark, mirrored sunglasses; open, unbuttoned shirts, tight t-shirts, and vests (tank tops); leather jackets (sometimes fleece-lined); tight jeans and leather trousers (always worn with some sort of belt - be it made from a tie like some his father had worn, or even one with a big buckle after the style of Robert Plant); Adidas trainers (tennis shoes) and platform shoes. He thought it suited him well. But in a catsuit, sequins, spangles, or ballet slippers, he'd not be caught dead. _No fucking way__._

Once he was dressed, he began wondering to himself if there might be time for a quick bite of breakfast. But there had been such a sense of urgency in his father's voice he decided he'd better not chance it. Though he could do with a cigarette and a beer, just to take the edge off. _ Yeah, yeah. He'd heard what his dad had said about the cigarettes, and the booze, and the cocaine. But what did his dad expect? For him to be a sober rock star? Whoever heard of such a thing? That'd be like an Englishman who didn't like fish and chips or something. Simply ridiculous. _

So he went downstairs to the kitchenette and over to the fridge. Romeo sat at his feet staring up at him.

"What?" Freddie asked.

"Meow," Romeo said. _ I wouldn't do that if I were you, mate. _

Freddie opened the door of the fridge to grab a beer, but just as his hand had touched the bottle, it felt exactly like someone had reared their hand back and smacked him right on the arse. Hard. 

"Ow!" He jumped, and spun around thinking it was Mary playing a trick on him. But then he remembered she'd already gone to work, so it couldn't possibly have been her.

"Meow," Romeo said again, and then trotted away. _ I tried to warn you, mate. _

Freddie made to retrieve the bottle again, but then paused for a moment, hand outstretched, as his father's words played through his mind once more. Then he chided himself. _ Oh, what was he so afraid of? Getting an arse whoopin' from beyond the grave? Yeah, right. An electro-static shock. That's what it had been. Still, perhaps it would be best if he stuck to tea for now. Just to be safe. _And he shut the refrigerator door, rubbing his bum.

As he drank his cup of tea, he wondered if he shouldn't leave a Mary quick note. _ Gone to save Brian. Be back by dinner. _ No, no. That simply wouldn't do. He thought about it, and at last decided to put down the most plausible explanation. _ Mary, Gone to work with the boys down at the studio. May be late getting back. _There.

Then he thought to himself, was there anything he should bring with him? Any sort of special equipment he might need? A sharp knife? A length of rope? Or perhaps a whip, leather jacket, and sable fedora? _ Oh, for fuck's sake, Freddie! This isn't Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark! You've got to get your arse in gear and get over to Brian's house now! Before it's too late. _So he grabbed the car keys and flew out the door.

This was another point in which he and his father differed. Freddie had got his driving licence as soon as was permitted by law, unlike his father who'd never learned to drive a car. Oh, his father had had a driving lesson alright, just the one. It lasted no more than ten minutes. He met the instructor, got into the car, stalled the engine, got out and declared: ‘I can’t be bothered with this.’ Or so Freddie had been told.

He went out to his and Mary’s 1992 Volkswagen Passat Station Wagon. _ That’s right, a station wagon. _ While visions of Porsche’s, Mercedes-Benzes, and Volvos danced, or rather drove across Freddie’s mind, Mary had insisted they get something functional and practical. _ Nothing more functional and practical than a fucking station wagon. That’s for sure. _But Freddie didn’t mind too very much. Mary kept him grounded, kept the fame and fortune from going to his head. And for that he was grateful. It was one of the many reasons why he loved her so.

He got into the driver’s seat, fastened his seat belt, and sped – _ ok, he didn’t speed exactly. Mary didn’t like him to speed. Totally whipped, he knew. _ He got in and _ drove as fast as the speed limit permitted_, all the way to Brian’s house.

*******

Brian was sat alone on the white leather sofa in his sitting room, staring down blankly at the pistol and bottles of vodka and painkillers on the glass coffee table in front of him. Suddenly, there was a furious pounding at the front door. 

“Brian! Brian!” Brian looked around frantically for a place to stash the gun. Panicked, at first he’d tucked it into the waistband of his trousers like he was some sort of Mexican bandito, and covered it with his shirt. But then he thought better of it. _ Oh, what the hell are you doing, Brian? You’re not some sort of hoodlum gangster for crying out loud! _ So at last he’d decided to hide it behind some books in the bookcase. Once he’d got it stowed away, he came and opened the door. Freddie stood there before him, breathless and with a look of desperation on his face.

“Brian, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright,” Brian said. 

“You’re sure you’re not in any sort of danger?” Freddie asked, standing on tiptoes to look over Brian’s shoulder into the interior of the house.

“Er…not that I know of,” Brian said, a bit perplexed. “And how are you, Freddie? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. I was just wondering if I could talk to you about something for a moment.”

“Sure. Of course. Come in.” Brian stepped back and opened the door wider. Freddie stepped inside cautiously, looking high and low for any signs of peril. Brian closed the door and followed him into the sitting room. Freddie walked over to the hall closet and opened the door, gazing inside. After a few moments he shut the door and casually sauntered over to the sofa. Suddenly he fell to all fours, yanking up the skirt of the sofa, and peering underneath. Finding nothing, he got to his feet and coming over to one of the windows, he stood to the side, back pressed against the wall, and carefully lifted a corner of one of the curtains to survey the outside.

“Um…Freddie, are you sure you’re ok?” Brian asked.

“What? Oh, yes, of course. I’m perfectly fine.” Seeing the look of concern mixed with puzzlement on Brian’s face, Freddie came back over and sat down on the sofa. That’s when he noticed the bottles of vodka and painkillers on the coffee table. Brain saw him looking, and immediately grabbed the bottle of painkillers, screwed off the cap, and tapped two out into the palm of his hand.

“Just a headache, Freddie,” he said, in what he hoped was a convincing voice, tossing back the pills and swallowing them. Freddie said nothing.

“W-would you like something to drink?” Brian asked a bit nervously perhaps, indicating the vodka.

“No, no. I’d better not. Alcohol seems to be having a bit of a strange effect on me today…” Freddie said. “Say, Brian, you know a lot about science, right?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Brian said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I was wondering…You know how you get those little shocks sometimes when you touch something?”

“Electrostatic shocks, yeah,” Brian nodded his head.

“Would it be possible for you to touch something, say, oh I don't know, a beer bottle in the refrigerator perhaps, and instead of feeling the shock in your fingertips like normal, you felt it in your arse instead?” Freddie had never seen a look of such utter bewilderment, as the one that was on Brian’s face right now.

“Er…no, I don’t believe so,” Brian said. “But I don’t claim to know much about electrical energy – charges and currents. Astrology’s more my field, you know – the stars and the planets, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry."

“Is that what you wanted to talk about, Freddie?” Brian asked. “Electrostatic shocks...in-in your bum?”

"No, not exactly. What I really wanted was to ask your opinion on this dream I had last night." This whole thing just kept getting more hilariously bizarre as it went, Brian thought.

"Ok, once again, not my field," Brian said with a bit of a laugh. "But sure. Alright, shoot."

"Ok, so last night I dreamt I was walking through a dark tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel was a light. So I started walking towards the light, and when I came out of the light, I was in this sort of backstage dressing room area. And there was my dad, sat in a chair in nothing more than a robe and his boxer shorts, eating a bowl of-"

"Cornflakes!" Brain finished Freddie's sentence for him. "Oh my God! I'd almost forgotten about that!" He laughed.

"You mean that actually happened? Like in real life?" Freddie was amazed.

"Yes! Are you sure you haven't heard this story before?" Brian asked.

"No," Freddie shook his head seriously. "But I'd really like to hear it. Go on, then."

"Well, during the Works tour tensions in the band were at an all-time high, particularly between Roger and I. Roger was angry about the setlist and I had a problem with the stage design that Roger had a hand in. Before one particular show things got really heated up, anything might have happened, Roger and I may even have come to blows and had an actual fight. All of a sudden one of the roadies said that there were a few minutes before the beginning of the show and they couldn't find Freddie. Everyone, including Roger, John, and I, started looking for him and we couldn't find him for quite some time. Finally, we discovered him in a dressing room - sitting in his boxer shorts and a robe, eating cornflakes... Everyone burst out laughing, the fight was quickly forgotten, and we went on to give one of the best shows of our career.” Brian smiled, lost in memory. “You know, I think due to Freddie’s flamboyant style and strong onstage persona, a lot of people mistake him for someone who was difficult to work with, someone who had everyone wrapped around his finger. One snap and we’d all be scurrying to follow his bidding. But the truth was far from that. In fact, he was a pacifist and the mediator of our group. He was the most composed member of the band. Sure in the studio he may have been a perfectionist who wouldn’t stop until he got everything right, but when it came to us, his bandmates, he knew how to listen and help us stay on track. When things became contentious amongst us and we had arguments in the studio – it was Roger and I who would be arguing most often – he intervened to keep the peace. He would be the one to neutralize the tension. He was always the one who said, ‘Come on, let’s not fight here.’ He was the peacemaker, and not the one who was the problem by being a diva who insisted on getting his own way. He wasn’t dominating or greedy for power. He didn’t want to overshadow anyone; he merely wanted to find solutions to problems as they arose. He was the guy who could make sense out of opposite ends of arguments. He was very good at focusing on the important issues. And even though prone to tantrums himself, he always made sure that everyone in the group was happy at the end of the day.” Brian turned to look at Freddie. “Oh, Freddie, I’m so sorry. I interrupted your telling me your dream. Please, continue,” he said.

“Alright. Well, this is the part I really wanted to talk to you about anyway.” Freddie furrowed his brow. “Right before the dream ended and I woke up, my dad said there was something he needed to tell me, something he needed me to do for him. He told me, ‘You’ve got to save Brain.’”

“Save me from what?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know, mate. I was hoping you’d tell me,” Freddie said. “My dad just said, ‘You’ve got to save Brian. You’ve got to tell him to live.” Everything went quiet. Brian choked up instantly, tears welling up in his eyes. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“Listen, Brian,” Freddie continued. “I don’t really know what’s going on here. But whatever it is, I just want you to know, you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you. I care about you and I want to help. Whatever you need, just-just tell me, and we’ll get through this thing together, alright?” Finally, with great effort, Brian spoke, his voice strained with sorrow.

“Actually, Freddie, when you asked me earlier if I was alright, I lied. I’m not alright. I’m not well, and I haven’t been well for quite some time now. I feel like I don’t want to live anymore. I feel like I’ve lost myself completely. I don’t know who I am anymore. Ever since your father died, I’ve just been subsumed by these terrible feelings of loss. Sometimes I think my life is over. Sometimes I literally can’t get out of bed, I just want to pull the covers over. It’s like I’m paralyzed. You know I’ve found I can’t see color? There’s no color left in the whole world, literally. Even music can’t get to me in the worst moments. It feels like a black fog is clamping down on me. Everything feels like it’s happening at once. My father died. I’ve lost you father, one of my closest friends. I’ve lost the band, which is like a family to me. I’ve lost my marriage…to contemplate not waking up with my kids is unthinkable. It is utter hell. Sheer pain. And all of this in the same year, all at the same time. I know I can’t keep going on like this. I-I think I need some help.” Freddie came over and hugged Brian tight.

“Thank you for talking to me, Brian, and telling me all this. And don’t you worry. We’ll get you the help you need. Whatever it takes, mate. Alright?”

As far as getting help went, Brian decided he’d like to go somewhere where nobody knew who he was. So Freddie had Brian sit down on the sofa, and spread out a map of the globe on the coffee table in front of him. He had Brian cover his eyes with a hand, and then point to a place on the map, anywhere at all, and wherever his finger landed, that’s where he would go. It just so happened that his finger landed on a town called Tucson in the state of Arizona in the United States. So after making some phone calls, they arranged for Brian to check himself into a mental health clinic there called Cottonwood, as soon as things there at home could be squared away. By the time they’d finished, it was late and getting dark outside. Before leaving, Brian and Freddie had embraced one last time.

“Thank you, Freddie,” Brian said. “You’ve saved me. You saved my life. Just before you came over here, I was thinking of ending it all. But now I think I can see a way through to come out on the other side of this thing. And even though I’ve lost your father, I’m so glad I still have you.”

*******

When Freddie returned home, Mary was already there waiting for him.

“How did things go at the studio?” she asked casually.

“Things went great. Far better than I had been hoping. I think we really accomplished something today. Something that’s going to make a big difference,” he said, still thinking of Brian.

“Really? Well, that’s so interesting. Because I stopped by the studio today on my lunch break to see you, and they said you weren’t there. Hadn’t been there all day in fact.” She held up the note he’d written her. _ Uh-oh. _

“Mary, please, I can explain,” Freddie began.

“Alright, let’s hear it then,” she said, hands on hips.

“Ok, I was at Brian’s house. Something very urgent came up, and Brian really needed me.”

“Well, that’s fine, Freddie. But why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place? Why tell me you were working down at the studio if you really weren’t?” Freddie didn’t really have a good answer for that.

“I don’t know. I just-”

“So what were you and Brian up to anyway?” Mary asked.

“I can’t tell you, and I'm so sorry, Mary. It's a very sensitive, private issue that Brian doesn't want anyone else to know about. And I swore to him I wouldn't tell anybody anything." Mary started to walk away then.

"Wait, Mary, please! I know how it sounds, but I swear it's the truth. You've got to believe me." But Mary just kept walking. 

After that, Mary had a series of unfortunate "accidents", which didn't turn out so very nice for Freddie. She "accidentally" burnt his dinner, "accidentally" used up all the hot water while he was in the shower, and "accidentally" forgot to put more toilet tissue in the bathroom before he went in there. 

"Mary!" he called, whilst sitting on the toilet with his trousers around his ankles. "There's no toilet tissue!" But it seemed she didn't hear him. Then later when it was time for bed, she tossed his pillow and blanket onto the downstairs sofa.

"Oh, come on now, Mary. I said I was sorry. I said I was sorry about a hundred times," Freddie whined. "Let's not go to bed angry at each other, alright?"

"No, Freddie. You lied to me. That's not something that can just be forgiven in an instant." And then she'd turned, and went upstairs.

So Freddie grumpily fluffed his pillow and threw the blanket over himself. _ Great! Just great! He'd gotten rid of one problem, and added another - this time one of his own making. How could he be so stupid? He'd never get to sleep down here on this tiny, uncomfortable sofa! _ But he was exhausted (and relieved!) from the ordeal with Brian, and he soon fell straight to sleep.

Once again he found himself in that same dark tunnel with the bright light at the end. He couldn't help but break out into a run again, overjoyed at the prospect of getting to see his father a second time. This time when he came through the light, his father had at least put some trousers on - a pair of white jeans with the top button undone, for which Little Freddie was grateful. He was sat backwards in a chair, in the middle of telling a joke to the other three men.

"And then I said, 'You stupid bastards, you’ve put my tights on back to front!'" All four of them burst out laughing. When Freddie turned around and saw his son standing there, he came over, beaming with pride, and hugged Little Freddie tight. Then he kissed his cheek and took his face in his hands.

"That's my boy! You saved Brian! I knew you could do it! Well done!" Then he said, "Now there's something else I need you to do for me, if you're up to it." Little Freddie nodded his head.

"Of course, Dad. I'll do anything." And he would do anything, if it meant he kept getting to see his dad.

"Alright, bring me that guitar," Freddie said, indicating a bass guitar leant up against the wall in a corner of the room. "I need to show you something." Little Freddie went and retrieved the guitar and brought it to his father. Freddie turned the chair around to face the right direction, sat down, and took the bass from Little Freddie.

"Actually, Dad, there's something I was wondering if you could help me with," Little Freddie said, as his father fooled around with the guitar. "I was wondering if you could give me some advice on dealing with women, specifically an angry one."

"Well, son, I'll tell ya," Freddie said. "Women are like these modern day paintings everyone's always going on about, you'll never enjoy them if you try to understand them. But you shouldn't have lied to Mary," he scolded him with his finger. "You'll just have to apologize. Really apologize," he said, giving Little Freddie a pointed look. "And then find a way to make it up to her. You're a smart lad. You'll figure it out." Freddie grew frustrated with the guitar then. "Damn!" he shouted.

"Bring it to me," the man with the crucifix necklace said. So Little Freddie took the bass from his father and brought it over to the man. The man took the guitar and then pulled a golden pick from his pocket. "Watch carefully," he told him, and then proceeded to play the sickest riff Little Freddie had ever heard. (Bet you didn't know Jesus could play bass guitar!) It was celestial, ethereal - not of this world. When he'd finished, he handed the golden pick to Little Freddie, who closed his fist around it protectively. Freddie came over and put his hands on Little Freddie's shoulders.

"This time I need you to talk to Deacy. I need you to tell him to play." Then, just like before, Little Freddie began to be pulled back down the tunnel again. But he wasn't as upset this time. He knew he'd be back. Freddie looked down at him from above and shook his head.

"And I told you not to touch that alcohol, you silly boy," he scolded with his finger. Then once again everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know more about the joke Freddie was telling above, watch this video: https://youtu.be/rE_QFT6f2W4
> 
> Or follow this link: http://www.queenlive.ca/queen/85-04-13.htm
> 
> You can also read about it in Lesley-Ann Jones' book - Mercury: An Intimate Biography of Freddie Mercury


	3. Play - John

Freddie awoke with the pick in his hand. He kept it held tightly in his hand. Wincing, he sat up and stretched painfully. Now he had a back ache from sleeping all night on this damn sofa. But he supposed he deserved it. He wondered what time it was. It still seemed to be very early. So, very carefully, he crept upstairs to his and Mary's bedroom. Mary still lay sleeping, so he got himself dressed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her, making sure to shove the pick deep into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it. Then he went back downstairs.

_ Well, first things first, _ he thought, clapping his hands together. He decided the first step to winning Mary over would be to make her breakfast in bed. But the only thing was, he couldn't cook. And the roar of leaping flames and wail of fire engines was sure to wake her. And it wasn't like he could just run down to the grocery store like a normal person anyway. He was getting to have quite the following now, and if he dared to go any place as public as that, he was sure to be mobbed and then he'd be all day in that damn grocery store signing autographs, and Mary would never get her breakfast. So it seemed the only thing left to do, was to telephone and have breakfast delivered. 

As soon as he'd hung up from doing that, he thought to himself he should have phoned and had flowers delivered as well. But it was too late, there was no time for that now. Besides, probably none of the florist shops were open at this early hour. So instead, he came down the front stoop and snuck over to where their neighbor, Mrs. Brown, kept her flower beds. First making sure no one was about, he robbed the flower beds, carefully, strategically, so as not to leave a visible bald spot. Just as he'd been picking the last flower, he'd been startled by a voice.

"Good morning, Freddie, dear, how are you?" Mrs. Brown had come out in her dressing gown. Freddie whipped around, hiding the flowers behind his back. Luckily Mrs. Brown couldn't see very well anymore, so if he was careful...

"Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Brown. I'm alright. How are you? I was just admiring your flowers here. They're so beautiful this time of year."

"Thank you, dear. You're so kind." 

"Well, I'd better be going. I'm making breakfast for Mary," Freddie said, keeping his back to Mrs. Brown.

"You and Mary should come over and have tea some time. Such a lovely girl, Freddie. She really is."

"Thank you, and we will." Freddie just managed to slip past without her noticing. He came into the house and shut the door, leaning back against it. Just then the doorbell rang, and Freddie nearly jumped a meter in the air. He turned and opened the door, the flowers still in his hand. It was the deliveryman with Mary's breakfast.

"For me?" the man joked, seeing the bouquet of flowers in Freddie's hand. "Oh you really shouldn't have!"

"Ha ha, you rascal," Freddie laughed. "How much do I owe you?" So Freddie paid the man and tipped him well. He thought the man's eyes were going to bug right out of his head when he saw the size of his tip. 

"Th-thank you," he stuttered. Then, mouth still agape, he turned and walked slowly away.

"Thank you," Freddie called after him with a wave, and then shut the door. He brought the food into the kitchen and set it down on the counter. Taking the food from the container, he arranged it nicely on a plate. Then he got a tray and placed the plate on the tray. He snapped his fingers. _ Chocolates! Girls loved chocolates, right? _ They'd go very nicely with the flowers, if only he could find some. So Freddie rummaged around in all the cupboards and drawers and came up with a handful of various different sorts of wrapped chocolates, probably left over from Valentine's Day two months past. _ Well, they certainly weren't the best chocolates in the world, but they would just have to do. _He went upstairs to Mary, carrying the tray carefully. Mary was sat up in bed stretching, having just woken up.

"Freddie," she said with a laugh. "What's all this?"

"It's your breakfast, darling," Freddie told her, bringing the tray over and setting it on her lap.

"Oh my goodness! Did you cook all of this yourself, Freddie?" Mary asked. Freddie had been just about to say yes, but then remembered dishonesty is what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

"No, I really would've loved to, sweetheart, but I can't cook. The whole of London would've gone up in flames. So I phoned and had it delivered instead," he admitted.

"Well, it looks simply delicious, Mr. Mercury," Mary told him as she began to eat. Then Freddie showed her the flowers. She gasped, a hand over her mouth, having recognized the flowers immediately.

"Freddie," she hissed, "where did you get those flowers?" Freddie couldn't say anything, as he was trying to hold back his laughter.

"No you did not steal those from Mrs. Brown's flower beds!" she exclaimed, swatting at him playfully. Freddie burst out laughing, and now Mary was laughing too. "You're so bad," she said, as he leant down to kiss her. As it turned out, Mary wasn't the only one who got to enjoy the breakfast, as she couldn't resist giving Lily and Romeo a little bit of egg and a little bit of sausage. Afterwards, they sat licking their paws appreciatively. Then Mary unwrapped and ate one of the chocolates. She insisted Freddie take a bite as well, holding the chocolate up to his mouth.

"Mary…," Freddie said.

"Hmmm?" She asked, licking the chocolate from her fingers.

"I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday. I'm sorry I lied to you. I should have just told you the truth. I don't know why I did that." Freddie shrugged his shoulders, hanging his head. Mary took his hands.

"Listen, Freddie, I'm so glad you were able to help Brian with whatever it was he was struggling with. You've got the kindest, most caring heart of anyone I know. I just wish you would have been honest with me about where you were. I don't understand why you felt like you had to lie to me about that. Don't you know you can tell me anything? Even if it's something you think I'm going to be angry about - I'll get over it. Eventually," she said with a smile. "But I'd be a lot angrier, and hurt, if I found out you lied to me about it. How are we supposed to trust each other if we can't be honest with one another, hmmm?" Freddie hugged her tight, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry, Mary. I'm so sorry. And I swear, I'm never going to lie to you again. From now on I'm going to be completely honest with you. About everything." Then he pulled back, placing one hand alongside her lovely face.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you, Freddie," she said. "I love you. Just please don't do that again, alright?"

"Not ever," Freddie agreed. He pressed his forehead against hers, then took her face in his hands and gave her a kiss. "Now, come here, girl," he growled seductively. "I'm about to make you sing." Mary squealed with laughter as he jumped on top of her. Freddie supposed the best part of having a nasty row, was the make-up sex afterwards, and he soon had Mary hitting the high notes, while her head banged against the headboard in time to the rhythm of his movements, and he smiled down at her smugly, quite pleased with himself.

Afterwards, he couldn't help but smack that sweet arse, just as they were both about to walk out of the door together. Mary was putting in her earrings, getting ready to catch the bus to work. She smiled at him and reached up for a kiss.

"Have a wonderful day at the studio, sweetheart."

"Alright, I will, darling. And you have a wonderful day at work as well." Then Mary left and as Freddie was locking the front door, he put his hand in his pocket for the pick but it wasn't there. He felt in both pockets, then looked down at the ground around him. But it wasn't there either. He unlocked and opened the front door again, searching the floor near the entrance. Nothing. _ Fuck! _ Speaking of fucking...that reminded him - _ Upstairs! The bedroom! _ When he and Mary had been getting frisky, he'd whipped his trousers off and tossed them haphazardly across the room, the pick the last thing on his mind. He ran upstairs and searched the bedroom floor, then frantically shook out the sheets. Freddie was trying hard not to panic, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it. He grabbed his hair in his hands. _ What was he going to do? What was he going to do? Think, Freddie, think! _ Then his father's words came back to him, from that night long ago now when Goliath had gotten lost. "_Ok. Wait. Wait. Hang on a minute. Let's all just take a moment here and calm down a bit, alright? We're never going to be able to think properly when we're this upset. Do you remember - what do we do when we get upset, hmmm? Everybody, let's take a deep breath-" _ Freddie breathed in a lungful of air. _ "-and blow it out slowly." _ He released the air from his lungs. _ "There now. Better?" _ Freddie nodded his head. That's when the thought occurred to him. _ The cats! Of course! _ He knew from experience having grown up around cats his whole life, that cats simply couldn't resist anything shiny. So one of them must have found the pick thinking it was a plaything, and done something with it. Just as he'd been thinking this, he saw Lily dart by with what looked like something in her mouth. He immediately ran after her, but she kept well ahead of him. He chased her all over the house, and he was sure to an outside observer it would have been quite a comical scene. _ (Lily, no! Lily, stop! Lily, you get your arse back here right this instant! Do you hear me?!) _ Thank God Mary wasn't here to see any of this, or he'd never hear the end of it. She'd be laughing her arse off for a month. Finally, winded and out of breath, he'd been just about to give up, when he'd finally got ahold of her. And it was indeed the pick she'd been carrying about in her mouth.

"Give me that!" Freddie grabbed the pick from her mouth, and luckily it hadn’t come to any harm from her sharp little teeth. "Sorry," he added. Lily was giving him the most furious look a cat was capable of giving a person, indignant that he'd taken one of her pretties she'd found away from her. "I'll make it up to you. I'll buy you and Romeo both a new toy. And I'll bring each of your own piece of take-away fish home for dinner and you can eat it straight from the paper. What do you say?" Lily hissed at him and gave a deep, foreboding growl, probably planning on scratching his eyes out later when he was asleep. Freddie stepped back, a little frightened if he were honest. Perhaps he and Mary had better sleep with their bedroom door closed tonight…

Freddie was relieved to have the pick back, and he was determined to be more careful with it from now on, so he wouldn't lose it again. _ Little Freddie and the Golden Pick_, he thought to himself as he locked up for the second time. That sounded quite like a children's book. _ More like Freddie and the Golden Prick, _he laughed to himself, thinking of the way he'd made Mary call out his name in bed. And it hadn't been "Little Freddie" she'd been calling out either. Still laughing to himself, he got into the station wagon and headed to the studio.

*******

When he arrived at the studio, Freddie felt energized, refreshed. They'd already released two singles, and now they were working on their first album, which was also to be called The Sons of Queen, after their band. And once that was accomplished, there was already talk of a UK tour in the works, to start off. But the others clearly weren't in the mood. They just weren't feeling it today. The recording session soon devolved into just a lot of school boy humour. Jimmy sat strumming his guitar.

"Hey!" he said. "If our dads can have a song called Fat Bottomed Girls, why can't we have one called Flat Chested Women?" The others snickered as Jimmy began to sing: 

"I sure wished you had bigger tits, but hey baby that's alright! I'm still gonna take you down beside my red firelight!"

"Oooh," the others said with a laugh. Jimmy continued:

"You ain't got much upstairs, well that's plain to see. But no more than a handful is all I need." They all four of them burst out laughing then, slapping their knees.

Freddie just had to laugh, it had been quite hilarious after all. The truth was all day he'd been itching to grab Robert's bass, take out the pick, and start playing, just to try it out and see what would happen. But he was scared that a lightning bolt might suddenly leap down from the sky and strike him dead where he stood if he tried to use the pick for anything other than its intended purpose. But since it was obvious they weren't going to be getting any real work done today, he wondered if it might be alright if he knocked off early to go and talk to John.

He thought he'd better phone ahead this time, instead of just showing up unannounced like he had at Brian's house. After all his dad had given no indication that John was in any sort of immediate danger like Brian had been. So Freddie excused himself, and dialed the number, using one of the telephones out in the hallway. The line rang and rang, but no one picked up. Then, just when he'd been about to hang up, John's wife, Veronica, had answered the phone.

"Hello," she said.

"Er...yes, h-hello, Mrs. Deacon. It's Freddie. I was just wondering if I might drop by for a few minutes and-and talk to John." There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Freddie...John's having a really hard time right now, with everything. I don’t think he’s quite feeling up to having any visitors just now."

"I know. I know he's upset. And that's why I wanted to speak to him. I need to tell him something. Something very important. It'll only take a few moments, please."

"I'm really sorry, Freddie. But he just isn’t able to see anyone at the moment. I'm sorry." There was a click and then a dial tone as she disconnected the call. With a sigh, Freddie hung up the phone. Well, this was most certainly disappointing, but he wasn't going to give up that easily. He walked back into the studio. When he asked, the others were all perfectly fine with his leaving.

"Sure, Freddie, mate! Of course! We're just fooling around a bit, having a bit of a laugh. We'll see you here on Saturday, yeah?" Freddie agreed that yes, he'd see them all at the studio on Saturday. Then he got into the station wagon and drove over to John's house.

*******

Freddie parked the station wagon at the kerb in front of the house, then went up the front walk, and knocked at the door. After a few minutes of anxious waiting on Freddie's behalf, at last Veronica came to the door.

"Oh, Freddie…," she sighed sympathetically when she saw him standing there. And Freddie just knew she was going to send him away. He just knew it. But instead she said, "...He's just round that way. In the garage." She jerked her head to the left, indicating which way he should go. Freddie thanked her profusely and promised he would only take a minute. She gave him an appreciative smile, and then closed the door. So Freddie went round to the left, nervously worrying at the pick in his pocket with his thumb, as a thousand and one thoughts swirled their way through his mind. _What should he say? What if John got upset again like he had at the concert? Then what would he do?_ _Oh well, no sense in worrying about it now anyway. Whatever would happen, would happen. All he could do was try._ He was surprised suddenly by a hand on his shoulder. It was Robert, who must have left the studio shortly after Freddie had.

“Hey, Freddie, mate,” he said amicably. “What are you doing here? I thought you had some errands to run or something.”

“Er…right. Yeah. I do, I do,” Freddie said. “But I just needed to drop by and tell your dad something first.”

“Well, you’re headed in the right direction, mate. He’s always twiddling about with things out in the garage. It’s just round this way. Come on.” 

They found John, just as Veronica had said, tinkering away in the garage. Blueprints, and schematics, and hand sketched plans on plain notebook paper for some kind of weird machine the likes of which Freddie had never seen before, lay spread out on a work table before him.

“Hey, Dad, what’s happening?” Robert said by way of greeting. John jumped, startled.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just fiddling around with things a bit to pass the time.” He hurriedly began tidying away all the papers, as if he were embarrassed or ashamed of them somehow.

"Oh, hello there, Freddie. I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting you," John said, when he looked up and saw Freddie standing there as well. "Just a little project Brian and I were working on together before he left to go on holiday. Have you heard? He's going on some sort of Clog Factories of America tour." Freddie raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Really? Wow! No, I hadn't heard that. But that sounds very...interesting, I suppose. Well, I hope he enjoys himself and has a good time." Freddie knew better of course, but he didn't let on. "Anyway, I didn't mean to intrude, but I haven't seen you for a few days since the concert, and I just wanted to drop by and see how you were holding up. It's been a very difficult time, I know. I saw how upset you were after the concert, but then again I guess we were all pretty upset. I've been worried about you, and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Nothing to worry about, Freddie. I'm alright," John smiled. "I haven't really felt up to entertaining guests much just yet, you know. That's all."

"Right. I understand. I mean it's perfectly normal to feel that way right now." Freddie stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down, scuffing at the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"W-would you like to come in for some tea?" John asked hesitantly.

"No, no," Freddie said. "I can see you're busy. I won't keep you. But uh...there is something I need to tell you. Something very important."

"Of course, Freddie. What is it?" John asked.

"Oh, God, I don't know how to say this, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it, uh…Ok. You see, the thing is…the thing is, since the night of the concert, I've been having these really odd dreams. About my dad. And in these dreams he's been talking to me and giving me messages to give to people. So the first night it was Brian. And then the next night, last night, it was you. He told me, 'I need you to talk to Deacy. I need you to tell him to play.'" Freddie looked up at John. While he'd been speaking, John, overcome with emotion, had covered his face with his hands. Freddie could tell John was clearly distressed and in a fragile state. Whatever he did next, he needed to be very careful. Robert came over and put his arm round John’s shoulders.

“It’s ok, Dad. You alright?” he asked, but John didn’t answer.

"Oh, John, I'm sorry I've upset you by telling you that," Freddie apologized. "Here. Perhaps it would just be better if I showed you." He went over and retrieved John's bass guitar that was leant up against the end of the work table, where he supposed it had been resting since the night of the concert. Freddie sat down on a stool that happened to be there, took the pick from his pocket, and began to play the riff carefully, just as the man had shown him in the dream. 

"Holy fucking shit, Freddie! I didn't know you could play bass!" Robert's eyes couldn't have got much bigger.

"I can't," Freddie told him. "I'm just doing what the man showed me in the dream."

"Like fuck you can't! I mean goddamn! You play better than I do," Robert cried. When he heard the music, John slowly brought his hands away from his face.

"You've yet to play your final song," Freddie told him with deep meaning in his voice. He held the guitar out to John. John hesitated a moment, but then took the bass from Freddie's hands. He slowly played back the riff. Then there was a long pause in which Freddie thought everything was going to end in disaster. But then John continued playing, adding notes to the song and making it his own.

"That's good," he said. He looked over at Freddie. "Oh, that's really good." He began strutting around a bit and bobbing his head, really getting into the music now. _ Disco Deacy_, Freddie thought with a smile. He looked down at the pick in his hand, and shoved it down deep into the bottom of his pocket. Then, with John lost in the music, Freddie slipped quietly out the door. Robert stood there for a moment frozen to the spot, mouth hanging open, but then roused himself and followed after Freddie. He caught up to him as he was walking back across the front garden.

"Freddie, man, what the hell was that? How the hell did you do that?" Robert's hands were actually trembling. "Your dad showed you how to do that in a dream, did he?"

"No, it wasn't my dad," Freddie told him. "It was this other man who was there in the dream with my dad. He's the one that showed me how."

"Well, I'd wish you'd have more dreams like that. I mean forget singing. Hell, I'll sing. Even if my voice sounds like complete shit, it won't even matter. If you play bass like that, when people hear it, they'll lose their fucking minds. We'll be the filthiest rich bastards on this entire planet, do you hear me? Richer even than our dads."

Just then Veronica was coming out of the house towards them.

"Freddie, would you like to come in for some tea?" When she heard the guitar, and realized it must be John playing, she stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. She put a hand over her mouth, and there were tears in her eyes. She gave an emotional gasp. "What did you do? How did you get him to play again?" 

"I didn't do anything," Freddie said. "I guess someone up there just thought he needed a little bit of encouragement, that’s all," he said, pointing towards the sky. Veronica took his hands in hers. "Thank you," she said, kissing him on the cheek. Then she rushed past him towards the garage. Freddie watched her go for a moment, then turned and continued on his way.

*******

Later that night Freddie and Mary sat on the sofa together watching television. Freddie absent-mindedly stroked Lily, who lay on his lap purring loudly, contented. He supposed they’d made up now. He’d kept his promise and brought she and Romeo home each their own new little cat-nip toy, and a piece of take-away fish, just as he said he would. Before giving them the fish, he’d taken off all the batter and checked for bones so they wouldn’t choke, just as his father had had Jim do anytime the cats were given fish to eat. The memory of Jim and his father together sent a sharp stab of pain through Freddie’s heart. Though he’d been trying his best not to think about it all week, hoping things would sort themselves out somehow, tomorrow was the day set for Jim, Phoebe, and Joe to move out of Garden Lodge. And while he was certainly very happy about the way things had worked out with John today, he was beginning to feel downhearted, thinking of the heartache that surely lay in store for all of them tomorrow morning. Mary knew all about it of course, and she’d noticed that Freddie had been unusually quiet and withdrawn all evening.

When they’d gone to bed (thank God Mary was allowing him back in the bedroom tonight!), Mary had cuddled up close to him, laying her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest, and Freddie put his arm around her. She desperately wanted to tell him, _ everything will be alright_, but decided that sounded vapid. Of course everything wasn’t going to be alright! Jim, the man Freddie had called Papa for the past seven years since he was eleven, not to mention Joe and Phoebe, who’d been around even longer since Freddie was very small, were all leaving tomorrow, and who knew when or if Freddie would ever see them again. So instead she’d simply said, “I love you,” and tried to put all of her feelings and unspoken thoughts behind those three words, and hoped the message she was trying to convey to Freddie came across to him somehow.

“I love you, too,” he said, and they kissed. Then Mary closed her eyes, but lay awake until she felt his breathing change, becoming slow and deep, and she knew that at last he was asleep.

But Freddie was surprisingly optimistic as he found himself once more walking through the dark tunnel towards the light. After all, the things his father had told him to do had seemingly worked out quite well thus far, or at least these first two times anyway. And hopefully this time his father would have a solution to fix things with Jim, Phoebe, and Joe as well. When he came into the light, he found his father fully dressed now, and having his Adidas boxing shoes laced and tied by a man with golden, flaxen hair, and a pair of large, beautifully feathered angel wings sprouting from his upper back. He wore a white t-shirt that across the back in big, bold lettering simply said **CREW**, and below that the name **DAVE**. When his father saw him, he gave Little Freddie a cheeky smile.

“I mean I never tie my own shoelace, I mean never. It’s just not the thing done in rock n’ roll. Not even up here,” he said. The three men along the back wall laughed. Freddie turned to look at them, and began laughing himself as well. He turned back to Little Freddie then, and motioned him to come to him.

“Come here,” he said, waving him over with his hand. Little Freddie smiled and came over to his father. Freddie stood up and embraced him tightly, for a long while. Then he stepped back, placing his hands on Little Freddie’s shoulders. 

“You did so well with John, and I want you to know that I’m very proud of you,” he told him. “But now you musn’t be disappointed or feel badly if John decides he still doesn’t want to play with the band anymore, hmmm? Just to be clear, nobody’s being forced to do anything, you understand. That’s just not how this thing works. Everyone’s still got their freedom of choice, to do as they see fit. We’re working more with what you might call the power of suggestion, as it were, but sometimes that can only go so far. And perhaps retirement is the right thing for John. I couldn’t say. Only he knows what’s best. But you’ve brought the music back to him. You’ve given him back his song. And that’s the most important thing, you see.” Little Freddie nodded his head.

“Yeah, Dad. I understand,” he said.

“Good,” Freddie told him with a wink. "Did you get things sorted out with Mary, then?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. We got things sorted out alright, if you know what I mean…" he said, suggestively with a laugh. Freddie grinned and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

"Well, to be serious for a moment..." Freddie said, "...I know Jim, Phoebe, and Liza are being made to leave Garden Lodge tomorrow, even though everyone knows it was my wish that they should live there as long as they liked. But it's my own fault, you see. Unfortunately, I didn't write down any of that in my will, so it's not legally binding. I take full responsibility for that, and I just hope you and the others can find a way to forgive me somehow. It's just that towards the end, a lot of the time I was neither here nor there. I was in a sort of in between place like this one. That's something most people don't understand about death, Freddie. They think one moment you're one place, and the next second you're someplace else. But it's not like that. It's not like that at all. It's more like a fading away. In the beginning you're more in that place than this one, and then slowly little bit by little bit the tide starts to turn, and you find yourself starting to be more and more in this place instead of that one, until finally one day you just realize you're all the way here now and there's no going back. And you don't want to go back down there for the most part. You think gosh! What was I so afraid of? I should have done this a lot sooner!" Freddie laughed. "But anyway, like I said before, I know they're being forced out of Garden Lodge, and sadly there's absolutely nothing I can do about that now. Nor can anyone else, for that matter." Little Freddie hung his head in disappointment. He'd been sure his dad would have a solution for this problem, just as he'd done with Brian and John. But now it looked like that wasn't going to be the case.

"But I still do have a message for them. Something I'd like them to do for me, that will help them make it through, and bring joy and happiness to a lot of people," his father continued. "When I knew my time was short, before I-" Freddie paused a moment. "I don't like to use the word _ died _because I don't feel like I ever really died, you know. Let's just say, before I came here. So, before I came here, I put two little gift boxes together - one for Jim, and one for Phoebe. They must still be upstairs in the hinged wooden box Jim made for me to store all my private papers. The box is polished and it's got a small lock on it that Jim took from an old sewing machine which had belonged to his grandmother. You'll recognize it straight off as soon as you see it. You've got to find the gift boxes and give them to Jim and Phoebe. The message I have for them is already tucked away safely inside along with the gift."

"Alright, Dad," Little Freddie said, nodding his head seriously. "And what about Liza?"

"No, I didn't make one for Liza," Freddie said. "Not because I don't care about him. I do care about him. A great deal. But as you probably already know, Liza is very ill himself. He hasn't got much longer. Soon it will be time for him to rest as well. So that's why you must be very careful when you give the gifts to Jim and Phoebe. You must make sure you do it when you're alone, in absolute privacy, where no one might accidentally see or overhear what you're doing. I don't want Liza to be hurt in any way."

"No," Little Freddie agreed. "I promise I'll be very careful." Then there was a look of pained sadness on his father's face that Little Freddie hadn't seen in this place before. 

"And say, Freddie, if you wouldn't mind too much, would you give everyone a great big cuddle from me and tell them all I love them and miss them terribly? The cats too! Don't leave my babies out! And tell Kashmira that I'm proud of her and that she's still Daddy's best girl."

"Of course, Dad. You know I will," Little Freddie promised. Freddie hugged him close again and kissed him on the cheek. There were no witty remarks from his father this time as Little Freddie was going back down the tunnel.

"I'll see you in a little bit, Dad, alright?" he said. Freddie just nodded his head and gave him a small smile. He held up his open palm, waving goodbye, and then closed it slowly into a fist, just as he faded from Little Freddie's sight.


	4. Remember - Jim & Phoebe

Freddie opened his eyes to the sound of thunder, and rain pelting against the glass of the window panes. Mary wasn't beside him, so he knew she must already be downstairs. He lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he could just stay that way all day, instead of facing what he knew he was going to have to face today. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then made himself get up, throwing off the covers. He sat on the edge of the bed, wiping sleep from his eyes, then gave a deep sigh, holding his head in his hands. Finally, he forced himself to his feet and crossed to the window, pulling back an edge of the curtain to look outside. Everything was cold, dark, dismal, matching the mood in his heart. Great sheets of water came down from the sky, and he couldn't help but wonder if they weren't his father's tears falling down from Heaven. He got in the shower then, letting the hot water run over his entire body, and praying for a miracle, an idea, a solution, anything to keep this from happening. But nothing came to him, and after a while the water was beginning to turn cold, so he washed himself quickly and got out, shivering. Afterwards, he got dressed - a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, black leather trousers, and the platform shoes he'd taken to wearing sometimes instead of his Adidas trainers. He looked at himself in the closet mirror and thought he quite looked like he was attending a funeral, but thought it fit the occasion, and so he left it. When he came downstairs, Mary was in the kitchen. She didn't say _ 'Good Morning' _or ask how he was doing, she simply came over and hugged herself to him, snuggling her head against his neck, and letting him feel the warmth of her embrace. She could literally feel the tension in him, the muscles of his shoulders knotted with worry. She reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"What would you like for breakfast?" she asked, pulling back slightly.

"Nothing," Freddie told her. "I'm not hungry."

"Freddie, you have to at least eat something," she said to him gently, placing a piece of hair behind his ear. So she ended up making him _ kachori_, a sort of Indian version of scrambled eggs, that she knew he loved, as well as a cup of black coffee and a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk and sugar. But Freddie mostly just ended up pushing the food around on his plate instead of actually eating - even just those few bites of nourishment were extremely difficult to get down. And he barely even touched the coffee, taking only one or two sips at the most. But Mary was glad to see that Freddie had at least finished his tea. But what Freddie would have absolutely killed for right now, was a line of coke, a beer or shot of vodka, or better yet both, and a cigarette. It had only been a few days, but yet the craving right now was almost unbearable. His hands were trembling at the mere thought, so he stilled them, placing them palms downward on the surface of the table on either side of his plate. Cocaine, booze, and cigarettes were the way he'd taught himself to cope since his father's death, luckily not letting it get too far out of control. But he knew if he gave into his vices now, his father would be disappointed in him, and he couldn't bear to disappoint his father, not today of all days. He needed to keep a clear head so he could do what his father needed him to do. Just before leaving, Freddie stood near the front door staring into space, lost in his own thoughts. Mary came and slipped her hand into his, bringing Freddie back to the present moment. He tightened his fingers around hers and put on a pair of dark shades, even though there was no sun.

"Alright, let's go," he said. And together they went out and got into the station wagon and made their way towards Garden Lodge.

*******

When they arrived at Garden Lodge, they avoided a bin lorry that was coming down the way, and parked at the kerb beside the front gate. Luckily the rain had stopped now, and the sun was just beginning to peak out from behind the clouds. Freddie got out and came around and took Mary by the hand again. Freddie took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front gate, noticing as he did so, the freshly painted over walls where once had stood the fans' memorial and shrine to his father, and also the multitude of security cameras that had now taken its place. Once inside, Freddie turned and relocked the gate, then they passed through the garden, and up to the front doors. Freddie rapped his knuckles against the door to announce their arrival, then got out his keys again to unlock the front door. His mother was stood just inside the front hallway, waiting to greet them.

"Freddie," she said, coming over to him after he'd relocked the front door. Freddie came up to her and embraced her, kissing her cheek.

"Hullo, Mum. How are you?" He looked around for his sister.

"Where's Kash?" he asked.

"Well, of course, she's in school, Freddie," his mother stated matter-of-factly. Freddie was so enraged he wanted to explode.

"What the fuck, Mum?! That's bullshit! You aren't even going to let her say goodbye?!" he wanted to shout. But Freddie Mercury had raised his son better than that. He had made absolutely certain that Little Freddie was raised to be a perfect gentleman, and to show all women the respect they deserved, most especially his mother above all others. So Freddie just gritted his teeth, bit his tongue, and said nothing.

Instead, he asked, "Mum, would it be alright if Mary and I went up to Dad's room for a bit. There's something in there I'd like to have."

"Of course, darling. That's fine. Take whatever you'd like," his mother answered him dismissively. So with Mary clinging tightly to his hand, Freddie climbed the staircase to his father's room. He let go of Mary's hand and began searching the room, looking for the box his father had told him about. Mary also made a pretense of searching about, but had absolutely no idea what they were looking for. She crept ever so carefully over to Freddie.

"What are we looking for?" she whispered to him cautiously. Mary had always been a little bit intimidated by his mother.

"My dad left gifts for Jim and Phoebe. They're in a polished wooden box with hinges that he kept his private papers in. It's got a small lock on it from an old sewing machine that used to belong to Jim's grandmother," he explained to her. After a while longer of fruitless searching, Freddie stood up.

"It's not here," he said. Mary stayed close behind him as they came back down the stairs.

"Mum," Freddie said, "Where's that box from Dad's room that he used to keep his private papers in?"

"Oh, I've just thrown it out," she said casually. "Honestly, Freddie, your father was far too fond of keeping all kinds of little boxes around. I mean my goodness! He was up to his ears in boxes! Silly thing. There's so much clutter, it's like a museum in here!" Freddie didn't say so, but he knew that wasn't the real reason, the real reason being because it was given to his father by Jim, and his mother was determined to purge everything from the house that had any relation whatsoever to Jim, Phoebe, or any of the others. So Freddie took out his keys once more to make his slow way back out front to where the bins were. But then suddenly it occurred to him. The bin lorry! They'd seen one just down the lane as they pulled up to the front gate. And that had been a while ago.

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath as he struggled frantically with the keys now. Finally, he'd got the front door open, and ran out to unlock the gate. When at last he'd got outside to the bins, they'd been emptied and the bin lorry was speeding quickly away up the road.

"Wait! Stop!" Freddie cried out, arm outstretched, as he immediately began chasing after them. Mary stopped abruptly at the kerb.

"Freddie!" she called after him, concerned. Freddie was running so fast, he ran right out of the platform shoes he was wearing. Thankfully, he'd caught up to the bin lorry just at the last moment. When the bin man riding at the back had noticed him, he'd motioned for the driver to stop.

"Cor! You're Little Freddie ain't cha?!" The bin man asked in his cockney accent, as Freddie was bent double, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. He was a large, tall man with hair cropped short to the scalp, and when he smiled Little Freddie couldn't help but notice the terrible state of his teeth. But he certainly seemed nice enough, and another thing his father had taught him was to always treat all people with kindness and dignity, and to never set himself above others, regardless of their situation.

"Look, George! It's Little Freddie innit?" the man said to the driver, a small, skinny little man who was now getting out and coming around to the back of the lorry to see what was up.

"By God, Oliver, it is!" George said, crossing himself as if Freddie were some sort of holy relic, shoeless and disheveled though he was.

"‘Ere, wha’ seems to be the Barney Rubble (trouble), eh, then, Mr. Mercury? As subjects of ‘er Majesty, The Baked Bean, er…that is, The Queen, we are ‘onored and duty-bound to ‘elp all those who find themselves in need within the confines of ‘er kingdom," the one called Oliver said with a deep bow. And Freddie wondered to himself if he were really talking to bin men, or knights from King Arthur's round table who'd been magically transported into the future somehow.

“Right. Well, my mother-” Freddie started to say.

“Mary,” Oliver and George said together in unison.

“Er…yeah, that’s right,” Freddie continued. “Anyway, she accidentally threw out something of my dad’s. Something quite valuable to us. And I was just wondering if there was any way at all that we could possibly get it back. I’d be willing to pay any price,” Freddie told them, getting out his wallet. But they waved him away.

“Well, of course you can! Lucky we ‘aven’t mashed it yet,” Oliver said. But both bin men were horrified when Freddie made as if to climb up into the back of the bin lorry.

“‘Ere wha’ you doin’, mate? Tha’s our job, tha’ is, innit?" Oliver informed him. He climbed up into the back of the bin lorry himself, and began searching through the rubbish. “Let’s take a quick butcher’s hook (look). It were just these few bags ‘ere weren’t it, mate?” Oliver began ripping open the bin bags. “‘Ere, wha’ you say you were lookin’ for again, mate?”

“It’s a polished wooden box-” Freddie began, but Oliver had already found it before Freddie could finish explaining.

“‘Ere, is this it then, mate?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s it!” Freddie exclaimed, excited. He recognized the box straight off, just as his father had told him he would.

“‘Ere you are then, mate,” Oliver said, handing him the box. “Doesn’t look like it’s come to any harm.” Freddie was simply overjoyed.

“Here, please,” he said, trying to hand each of the men a £50 note for their trouble. But once again they refused. “Well, there must be some way for me to repay your kindness,” he said, putting the money back into his wallet.

"Actually, there is, mate. If it ain't too much trouble, mind you, wha' me and Georgie Boy 'ere would love better than anything else in this whole world, would be to get our picture taken with you, and your autograph," Oliver said to him.

"Well, of course," Freddie agreed. "Just let me get my shoes."

"No, no, no!" Oliver and George objected at once.

"You stay right where you are, Mr. Mercury. I'll fetch 'em," Oliver told him. When he brought the shoes over, Freddie reached out to take them from him, but George swooped in and seized them first. He knelt down and placed the shoes on Freddie's feet. Then he stood up, a huge smile on his face.

"Er...thank you," Freddie said. Then Oliver pulled a small camera out of his boiler suit, leaving Freddie wondering how often this sort of thing happened to them. They both put their arms around Freddie's shoulders and Oliver held up the camera to snap the photo. But Freddie stopped him at the last second. "Perhaps, it would be better if we moved over there to take the picture," he suggested. Surely they didn't want the bin lorry in the background ruining the shot.

"Oh, no! We could never leave Fanny out of the picture," Oliver said, stroking the side of the bin lorry affectionately. Freddie did his best to hide the shocked expression on his face. "We named 'er after that line in your dad's song - you know, Fat Bottomed Girls. See look 'ere." Oliver and George took him round and showed him where the name "Big Fat Fanny" had been spray-painted in white lettering on the side of the bin lorry.

Freddie was taken aback. All he could utter was, “Oh!”, truly at a loss for words. So, Freddie had his picture taken with Oliver, George, AND Fanny, and then when it came time for the autograph, Oliver pulled out a felt-tipped permanent marker (from his boiler suit, of course), and he and George insisted Freddie sign Fanny's, uh...rear compartment. Freddie obliged, and then after a final farewell, Oliver and George rode off on their noble steed, er, bin lorry, across the steamy streets of London, disappearing into the bright morning sunshine.

Freddie came walking back quickly towards Mary.

"Freddie what the-" she asked when he approached.

"Well, got the box back. Let's go," he said quickly, taking her by the hand and continuing on walking before she could ask anything further. Together they walked over to The Mews, another house on the property near the main Garden Lodge residence, where his mother had banished Jim, Phoebe, and Joe after his father's death. He knocked at the front door, and waited for some time, but no one came to answer the door. Already there was a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, and his hands had begun to tremble as he got out his keys to unlock the door. The key turned in the lock with an audible clunk. Freddie stood there for a moment, holding his breath. Then he pushed the door open. The interior of the house was dark, and they were met but an overwhelming silence. They stepped inside and stood there in the middle of the room, in the emptiness. He sat the box down on the floor, and Mary felt his breathing become heavy, panicked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He flicked on the lights and began storming room from room.

"Papa Jim! Phoebe! Liza! Somebody answer me goddamn it!" He shouted. But it was useless, clearly nobody was home.

"Freddie!" Mary called out to him, but he didn't hear, continuing his desperate search of the residence. "Freddie!" she called out to him again, when he appeared on the second floor landing. This time he turned in her direction. "Freddie, they're gone," she told him gently. Though he said nothing, he must have realized she was right. Without a word, he rushed down the stairs and out the door heading back in the direction of Garden Lodge. Mary picked up the box, turned off the lights, and shut the door behind her, before following after him. Freddie burst in the front door. His mother was still stood in the front hallway.

"Mum," he said breathlessly, taking her by the shoulders. "Where are they?"

"I don't know what you mean, dear. Who?" his mother asked innocently, as if she truly had no idea who he was referring to.

"Papa Jim, Phoebe, and Liza. Where have they gone?" Freddie asked, trying his best to remain calm.

"He's not your Papa," his mother told him coldly, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes, he is!" Freddie told her, defiantly. His mother gave an exasperated sigh.

"Well, anyway, they've already gone, thank goodness. We won't have to be seeing them around here anymore," she said with a flick of her wrist as if shooing away a fly. Freddie released her shoulders then. He couldn't believe it.

"When?" he asked incredulously.

"They all left for the airport just before you arrived," his mother informed him. Freddie stepped back, shaking his head, a look of horror on his face. He didn't know who his mother was anymore.

"Now, don't look at me like that, Freddie. It's all for the best," she told him. Freddie didn't trust himself to speak. He simply turned on his heel and began walking away.

"Come on. We're going," he said to Mary, who was just coming in the door. 

"Freddie, where do you think you're going?" His mother stalked after him.

"To the airport, of course," Freddie told her matter-of-factly, turning around to face her.

"Freddie, listen to me," his mother began. "It's too late. What's done is done. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it," she told him.

"Yes, there is," Freddie told her seriously, nodding his head. And with that he took Mary by the hand, and turned and left.

As soon as they were back in the car, Freddie got out their huge Motorola cellular phone, glad that he and Mary had at least splurged a little, and called up the other guys down at the studio. Robert answered the phone.

"Hello," he said.

"Hey, Robert, it's Freddie."

"Oh, hey, Freddie. What's happening?"

"Listen, I need your help. I'm afraid there's no time to explain over the phone. Meet me at the airport. Departures. And I'm going to need you all to look your sexiest." And then he hung up the phone.

*******

"What did Freddie say this was all about again?" Felix asked, as he drove them all to the airport. He and Jimmy battled for control of the rearview mirror; Jimmy teasing his hair, and Felix applying yet another layer of lip balm to his luscious lips. He gave a wink and kissed himself in the mirror.

"No idea," Robert said from the backseat. "I think he might have an idea for a music video or something." Freddie had instructed them to meet him at the very back of the airport's car park, well-removed from the main building. When they arrived, he squeezed into the backseat beside Robert.

"So what's up, Freddie?" Felix asked him.

"I think I might have found us a personal assistant and hairdresser for when we go on tour," he told them. They all just stared at him blankly.

"Ok, well, that's great and all, Freddie. But, uh...what the hell are we doing here at the airport though?"

"Well, you see, it's my step-dad Jim, and my dad's personal assistant, Phoebe. But they are about to get on a plane to Ireland and the Czech Republic, and I have to stop them before they do." 

"Alright, so what's the plan, Freddie?" Felix asked.

"I need you all to go in there like the fine, regal sons of bitches you are and cause a distraction," Freddie told them, with a wicked grin. Then he explained that while everyone in the airport was fawning over The Sons of Queen, Freddie and Mary would slip through the airport and find Jim and Phoebe and stop them from getting on their flights. The only problem was he needed a disguise, otherwise he'd be noticed and mobbed just like the rest of them. So to create the desired effect, Freddie traded trousers and shoes with Felix who was wearing jeans and flip-flops; swapped shirts with Robert, and borrowed a hooded sweatshirt from Jimmy. Then he put on his dark shades and a baseball cap they found in the floorboard of the car, and pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt over the top. And they all had to admit the disguise did look pretty good, considering. Though when they got out of the car, there was a difference of opinion on Felix's new ensemble.

"I'm not sure those shoes quite match your outfit, mate," Robert said, meaning the platform shoes of Freddie's that Felix was now wearing.

"'S alright, mate," Felix told him, once again adjusting the tight, form-fitting black leather trousers of Freddie's. "It ain't my feet they're gonna be lookin' at anyway," he said, clearly proud of the way his manly anatomy looked in the trousers.

Luckily, the operation went off without a hitch. The Sons of Queen created the expected stampede of admirers and media frenzy. However, many people were wondering what exactly The Sons of Queen were doing at the airport if they weren't intent on catching a flight.

"Actually, we're just here checking out the venue to see if in the future, we might possibly want to record a music video for one of our songs," Jimmy told them, going along with the prearranged little white lie they'd all agreed upon beforehand.

"And what song would that be?" an Asian reporter woman in a black pantsuit asked him.

"Uh….right. It's called, er….Aeroplane Race," Jimmy said the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Interesting," the reporter woman said, and they couldn't tell whether she was buying it or not. "And how does the song go? Could you give us a little demonstration?"

"Yeah, how does that one go again?" Felix asked him, trying to hide a laugh. 

"Well, unfortunately our lead singer isn't here with us at the moment to do it the proper justice, but I suppose it goes a little something like this, um...I want to fly my aeroplane," Jimmy began singing hesitantly.

"I want to fly my plane," Robert joined in.

"Yeah, that's right," Jimmy agreed.

"Get on your planes and fly!" Felix finished, thrusting both arms up into the air. "It's dedicated of course to all the pilots, flight crew, and airport workers here in London and around the world, without whom travel and touring wouldn't be possible." That comment really got the press going, speculating about a possible upcoming tour for The Sons of Queen. So while Felix and the others answered the reporters' questions, Freddie and Mary snuck their way through the airport, and thankfully, were able to get to Jim and Phoebe before they'd gone through security.

"Papa Jim! Phoebe! It's me! Freddie!" he said, coming up to them. They both turned round.

"Freddie?" Phoebe asked, happily surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Papa Jim! Phoebe!" Freddie cried as he embraced them, almost overcome with tears, so relieved was he to have found them both just at the last moment. "I couldn't bear to let you leave without saying goodbye," he told them. "Where's Liza?" Phoebe and Jim looked at each other then, and Freddie noticed the sadness in their red-rimmed eyes.

"He's already gone. Back to America. About an hour ago. He had an earlier flight than ours." Freddie was heartbroken by this news, but there was no time to think about it right now. Later, he'd do his best to reconnect with Joe somehow.

"Listen, perhaps this isn't the best place to be doing this, but I want to make you an offer. And of course it's completely up to you whether you accept or not. But as you know, The Sons of Queen are about to go on tour, just as soon as we get our first album done, and I dare say, we're going to be in need of a personal assistant and hairdresser, if you're interested that is. It'd be a real job you see," Freddie added quickly, knowing how important it was to Jim that he have a job and was able to maintain his own independence. "And of course I'd match whatever salary my father was paying you." There was a moment of silence, and then finally Phoebe spoke.

"Oh, come now, Freddie. You don't really need us here. Surely you could find someone much better to replace us both," he said, but there were tears in his eyes. 

“No, don't say that! Don't ever say that! I could never replace you! Either one of you! You're my family. And I do need you. I'll always need you,” Freddie told them. “I want you to stay, please," he pleaded. Phoebe and Jim looked at each other once more.

"Alright. Yes, we'll do it!" Phoebe said, a huge smile on his face. "But, where would we stay? We've been expelled from Garden Lodge, as you know."

"Don't worry," Freddie told them. "I'm sure I can get you each your own rental house in the same neighbourhood where Mary and I live. And in the meantime, you can stay with us until everything's been arranged." So, Phoebe and Jim both agreed, and the three of them sealed the deal with an enormous group hug.

*******

Back at Freddie and Mary's house, once everyone had had a chance to get settled in, Freddie sat Jim and Phoebe down at the kitchen table, each with his own steaming hot cup of tea with milk and sugar. Then he brought in his father's box, and set it on the table.

"My father had a gift and a message for each of you, and I wanted to make sure you got them," he told them. He opened up the box, and inside were two smaller Cartier gift boxes, each with a little piece of paper attached - one that said Jim, and the other Phoebe. Freddie handed them out. When Jim and Phoebe opened the boxes, each one held an authentic Cartier golden fountain pen, and a small handwritten note from his father. Jim's note read simply: Me & You - Remember. And Phoebe's read: To Peter, The Man Who Knew Me Best - Remember. At first, Jim and Phoebe had been perplexed, but somehow Freddie knew exactly what his father had been trying to say.

"I think he wants you both to write a book, of the memories you have of him, the good and the bad, and share them with the world, so the fans and everyone will finally get to know the real Freddie Mercury, and realize he was a human being just like everybody else, instead of the monster the media's always made him out to be," he told them. "Perhaps you could even help each other; work on your books together. Hopefully you should have plenty of free time to work on them whenever you'd like. I swear I won't be as hard to look after as my father was."

"No, I don't think that would be possible," Phoebe agreed with a laugh.

*******

That night, Kashmira had a ballet recital and Freddie had promised her he'd come. His mother was already there when he and Mary arrived.

"Hullo, Mum," Freddie said, as he and Mary sat down in the two seats beside her. To say the reception was frosty was an understatement.

"Freddie, how could you?" she hissed. And Freddie realized that news of his doings must have reached her through some unknown channel. He knew that when one was famous, there were eyes and ears everywhere.

"What do you mean, Mum?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know what I mean," she told him. "Bringing _ them _back here. You know it goes against my wishes."

"Yes, I know that," Freddie told her. "And you know it went against my father's wishes to have them thrown out of Garden Lodge." His mother sat there staring at him with her mouth hanging open. She couldn't believe he would dare speak to her like that. "Besides, Mum, it's just like you told me," Freddie continued. "It's too late. What's done is done. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it." His mother immediately whipped back around in her seat.

"Well!" she exclaimed, arms folded across her chest. And not another word was spoken between the two of them throughout the rest of the entire recital.

After the recital was finished, Freddie went backstage to visit Kashmira. She was the only little girl left, the last one to finish packing up her things. When she saw Freddie come into the room, her face broke into a smile and she ran to hug him.

"Freddie you came!"

"Of course I came!" he told her, hugging her back. "I told you I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Then they sat down in two of the room's swivel styling chairs, with their backs to a bank of vanity mirrors. Kashmira stared down sadly at her hands folded in her lap.

"You were great up there," Freddie told her, nudging her with his shoulder. "So what's with the long face, huh?" Kashmira just shrugged.

"Come on. You can tell me," Freddie said.

"I just miss Daddy. I wish he could have been here to see me," she sighed.

"I know, Kash. I miss him too." Freddie took her hand in his. "But he's up there watching over us, and looking after us the best way he knows how. And I know if he were here right now, he'd tell you just how proud he is of you, and that you're still his best girl."

"You really think so?" Kashmira asked.

"I'm sure of it," Freddie told her. "Oh, and I've got something for you here that I think might just cheer you up." He took a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. "I guess you know about Papa Jim and Phoebe," he said to her. Kashmira nodded her head, turning sad again.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye…" Freddie handed her the piece of paper. She unfolded it carefully. It was a picture of Jim and Phoebe outside Freddie and Mary's house, and they were holding Lily and Romeo in their arms.

"Papa Jim! Phoebe!" she exclaimed. "But, I thought they were-"

"They were," Freddie told her. "But not anymore." Kashmira hugged Freddie so tightly he could barely breathe.

"Oh thank you, Freddie! Thank you!" She cried, sobbing tears of joy into his chest. And then Freddie told her all about their little adventure at the airport, and how Jim and Phoebe had agreed to stay. Just then their mother appeared in the doorway.

"Are you ready to go, Kashmira?"

"Mummy!" Kashmira called, running over to hug her mother. "Did you hear? Papa Jim and Phoebe aren't leaving! They're going to live in the same neighbourhood as Freddie and Mary. And then Freddie's going to take them on tour with him!" The circumstances of Jim's and Phoebe's departure had been kept from Kashmira, so she had no idea of the bad feelings her mother held for them.

"Really?" their mother asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. "How wonderful!" She glared at Freddie over the top of Kashmira's head. "Well, come along, darling. Time to go. School tomorrow," she said.

"Ok. Bye, Freddie. See you later." Kashmira waved goodbye to her brother.

"Bye, Kash. Bye, Mum," Freddie waved back. But his mother said not a word to him as she and Kashmira turned and left, leaving Freddie sitting there all alone, and he pretended to himself that it didn't hurt.

*******

Freddie was bone-weary and tired from the day's events, and once they'd got Jim situated on the sofa and Phoebe squared away in the guest bedroom, he'd gone straight to bed, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Then he found himself running, running as fast as he could through the tunnel towards the light, excited, eager, like a small child waiting to show off something they've made or a drawing they've done, anxious to see the look of happiness and approval on a doting parent's face. When he arrived, his father was stood in front of a mirror, a brush in one hand, making sure that every single hair was exactly in place.

"I don't care what anyone says," he was saying to the three men along the back wall. "I was NOT losing my hair. I just have a double crown that's all, as any decent hairdresser would tell you. Need to get their story straight!" But when he turned and saw Little Freddie standing there, he was instantly overcome with emotion. He came over and hugged him tight. Little Freddie hugged him back and they stayed that way for the longest time, saying nothing and yet saying everything, things words couldn't convey. Little Freddie wished he could stay in that moment forever, but eventually his father stepped back, placing his hands on Little Freddie's shoulders. He was swallowing hard, and blinking away like mad to keep the tears from falling.

"I can't even-" he began to say, then had to stop to compose himself. "I can't even tell you how proud I am of you of what you've done for Jim and Phoebe," he said, his voice cracking a little with emotion. "And I didn't even tell you to do that, you came up with that all on your own."

"Sometimes you put far too much store in me, Dad," Little Freddie told him. "I'm just doing what's right, what ought to be done. That's the kind of man you raised me to be, after all." Then he brightened. "So what's next, Dad? What do you have for me this time?" he asked, hoping against all hope that there was indeed something else for him to do, and that this wouldn't be the last time he would see his father.

"Alright, Freddie. Last one," his father said to him a bit sadly. "I need you to stage some sort of intervention between your mother and Jim. All this hate and animosity between them, that shit's breaking my fucking heart, it really is. Why can't they understand they're both the loves of my life, neither one could replace the other. I don't love either one more than the other. It’s not a competition for my love. I love them both the same but in different ways. Don't they see that? And your mother...I just wish there were some way for me to tell her that she needn't try and horde me and keep me all to herself. Nobody could ever steal me away from her, and it's ok for her to open up and trust people, you know. It's ok for her to let other people love me too." Little Freddie thought about his father's words for a moment. Then he spoke.

"Alright, Dad. I think I have an idea. Don't worry, I'm on it."

"If you need help, you might ask Roger for some advice," his father told him. "He's pretty damn good at the art of persuasion and getting what he wants. Once locked himself in a cupboard and refused to come out until I agreed his song _ I'm In Love With My Car _ could be on the B side of _ Bohemian Rhapsody_. But guess what? It worked," Freddie said with a laugh.

"So, Dad, am I gonna see you again after this?" Little Freddie asked. Freddie looked over at the three other men in the room. The one in the middle, the eldest one, nodded his head. Freddie turned back to his son. 

"Yeah, I'll be right here waiting for you when you get back," he told him, and gave him one last hug before Freddie made his way back down the tunnel, ready to take on this final mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Phoebe did indeed go on to write two books: Mercury & Me by Jim Hutton (foreword by Peter aka "Phoebe" Freestone); and Freddie Mercury: An Intimate Memoir By The Man Who Knew Him Best by Peter Freestone and David Evans. Both books are excellent reads if you are wanting to learn more about Freddie Mercury and the man he really was.


	5. Love - Mary

As soon as he opened his eyes, Freddie sprang into action. He jumped out of bed, and began getting dressed. He put his trousers on and then sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt. Mary groaned beside him.

"Ohhh, Freddie, what time is it?" she mumbled into her pillow. It was 6:00 A.M. "What are you doing up so early?" Most mornings they usually didn't get up until an hour later.

"I've just had an epiphany," he told her. 

"Isn't it a little early for epiphanies?" she asked. "Come back to bed."

"No time," he said. "I think I may have a plan to help my mum and Jim to get along with each other." He went downstairs so as not to disturb Mary further. Then he made himself a cup of tea and as he drank, he hurriedly jotted down ideas on a piece of paper with a pencil. He thought it was a very good idea his father had about asking Roger for help, because for what he planned to do, two people would definitely be better than one. And he might even need to ask Phoebe to help them as well. Though he was almost bursting with nervous energy, he forced himself to wait until 8:00 before calling Roger. As soon as Roger answered the phone, all of Freddie's words came spilling out, and he had to force himself to take a deep breath and to speak more slowly, explaining the situation to Roger and his plan. Fortunately, Roger was completely game.

"Yeah, mate, sure. Of course I'll do it. You know you're like a son to me. Brian and Roger too, and we'll always do whatever we can to help you," Roger had said, making Freddie's eyes damp and a lump form in his throat. "Besides, if nothing else I could do with a good laugh. Can you imagine the look on Jim's and your mum's faces when they find out what's really going on?" So Freddie and Roger made their plans to meet at Freddie's house at eleven, and then rang off. Now the only thing Freddie had to do was swallow his pride, and call his mother to apologize.

"Listen, Mum, I'm really very sorry about the way we left things between us yesterday," he told her once he got her on the line. But no way was he going to go so far as to apologize for bringing Jim and Phoebe back. Never. "And I was just wondering if you could come over to the house and maybe have lunch and chat about it, talk things over."

"It's a bit short notice, Freddie, but perhaps I could still get the nanny to watch Richard and Jamie, just for a couple of hours."

"Well, of course you could, Mum!" Freddie told her. "Anyway, it would really mean a lot to me if you could make it."

"_They're _ not going to be there are they?" Freddie didn't hesitate for one moment.

"No, Mum. It'll be just the two of us - just me and you. I promise. Come on, now. What do you say?" At first there was a long silence, but at last his Mum had agreed.

"Alright," she said. "What time?"

"Noon," Freddie told her. "Thanks, Mum. I really appreciate it." Did Freddie feel guilty for lying to his mum? He thought about it. Perhaps a little, but not really. It was for the best, and he really couldn't see any other way around it. Later, before leaving for work, Mary came by and gave Freddie a peck on the cheek.

"Goodbye, sweetheart. I hope everything works out between your Mum and Jim," she told him, and then she hurried out the door to catch the bus, certainly glad that she would not be home when Freddie's mum arrived.

*******

Jim had been even easier to convince. So when his mother arrived at noon, Freddie showed her into the dining room and sat her down at the table. 

"I'll be right back, Mum," Freddie told her, and then left the room. Suddenly, Jim walked into the room, looking quite confused and unsure of himself, and sat down hesitantly at the table. As soon as she saw him, Mary stood up from her chair, but before she could say anything, Freddie and Roger walked in through opposite entrances, and locked the doors behind them.

"Freddie, what's going on here?!" Mary demanded. "What's he doing here?" she asked, indicating Jim. "You told me it was just going to be the two of us. You promised."

"Sorry, Mum. I lied," Freddie said, though clearly unremorseful. Jim had stood up now from his seat as well. Roger came and sat down in the seat at the head of the table.

"Both of you sit your arses down. This is an intervention," he told Mary and Jim, taking off his sunglasses. So shocked were they that they didn't even utter a word, just obeyed and silently sat down as he had told them. "Two people who Freddie loved so dearly, treating each other in this awful way. It's a damn shame." Mary finally found her voice.

"Well you can't very well force us to like each other!" she objected.

"No, we can't force you," Roger agreed. "But at the very least, you could put your differences aside and try to get along." Mary crossed her arms over her chest.

"And what exactly do we have to do to get out of here?" she asked.

"Well, first we're all going to sit down and have a nice, peaceful lunch together," Roger began. "And then we're going to play a little game." At that moment there was a knock at the door leading into the kitchen. Freddie got up and unlocked the door, letting in Phoebe who was carrying a tray with four plates of the beef stroganoff with mushrooms over white rice that Freddie had asked him to prepare for the meeting. Once lunch was served and the food on the table, Phoebe retired once more to the kitchen, Freddie locking the door behind him. The meal was eaten in stony silence, except for Freddie and Roger who chatted and laughed together. Freddie turned to his mother who still had her arms crossed over her chest. Jim was already digging in, but his mother had yet to touch a single bite.

“Well, aren’t you going to eat?” Freddie asked her. “It’s delicious.” His mother glared at him, and Freddie turned quickly away from her. _ Careful, Freddie, _ he told himself. _ Don’t overplay your hand. _But his mother did pick up her fork and begin eating, albeit reluctantly.

“I’m stuffed!” Roger declared, leaning back in his chair after the meal. Once everyone had finished eating, Phoebe came back in to collect the plates and whisk them away to the kitchen. Roger pulled out a small stack of record cards from the inside pocket of his jacket, and straightened them against the table’s edge. “Now, who’s ready to play?” Neither Jim nor Mary looked like ready takers.

“And after we play your little game, you’ll let us leave?” Mary asked.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah, that’s right,” Roger told her.

“How do we play?”

“All you have to do, Mum, is answer five questions,” Freddie said, “Five questions. That’s not so bad, right? And then you’re free to go.” Roger looked from one to the next. Neither Jim nor Mary said anything, they just continued to sit there the way they were, but he decided to proceed ahead anyway.

“Right. First question. We’ll start off with an easy one,” he said, reading from one of the record cards. “What’s your favorite memory of Freddie?” Surprisingly it was Jim who spoke first.

“Since the very first day I started work for him in the garden, right up until just a few days before he died, every morning when Freddie got up he started his day by looking out of our bedroom window on to the garden. He’d look for me, wave and call ‘Cooee’ before coming down for his morning tea.” He smiled to himself, lost in memory. “That was my favorite,” he said. Then everyone turned and looked expectantly at Mary. She shrugged her shoulders.

[“Well, Freddie, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this story before, but once shortly after you were born, I had an important errand to run and I had to leave you with your dad for the day.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599842) Freddie absolutely freaked out. He was literally begging me to stay, saying he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of babies, especially on his own. But I just had to go. I told him, ‘Look, Freddie, you’ll be fine. It’s only for a couple of hours.’ And then I left. Well apparently your dad called up Brian, Roger, & John to come over and help him. Who knows what all sorts of tricks the four of them got up to, trying to take care of you. But when I came home, I found all of them passed out on the sofa, asleep. Brian had this little children's guitar cradled in his arms, and your dad had you, pressed up against his chest, and the two of you were just sleeping away. It really was the funniest, and the most precious thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Mary smiled then, for the first time since the beginning of the meeting.

“Alright, next question,” Roger said. “What is one thing you appreciate about the other person’s relationship with Freddie?"

“Mary,” Jim began, “I’ve always appreciated the way you were there for Freddie from the beginning, no matter what, through thick and thin, and believed in him, and accepted him for who he really was.” Mary sighed.

“I suppose it’s no secret that Freddie led a very lonely, difficult life at times,” she said. “But I’m glad that he at least was able to find some measure of happiness with you in the last years of his life. And that at the end, he had you, Phoebe, and Liza to care for him."

“Ok,” Roger said, bringing up the third card. “What was the one thing you wanted for Freddie when he was alive?”

“The only thing I ever wanted was for Freddie to be happy, and to be himself,” Mary replied.

“For him to be happy,” Jim agreed, nodding his head. Roger read the next question:

“If you could tell Freddie one thing, what would it be?”

“I love you,” Mary and Jim said together at the same time. They looked at each other then, and there was a long silence, things beginning to sink in.

“Last question,” Roger said. “If Freddie were here, what do you think he would say about the way you two have been behaving towards each other?” That one stung.

“I don’t know,” Mary said, dismissively, with a wave of her hand, but Freddie could see the question had troubled her and that she was upset.

“I think he’d be angry and disappointed with me,” Jim answered honestly. “I always promised Freddie I’d be there for you, Mary, always. And I haven’t done that.” Jim reached his hand over and placed it on top of Mary’s hand. “But, I’d really like to, if you’d be willing to give me a second chance.” Mary allowed him to take her hand.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly. 

"And all this hate and animosity between the two of you, it would break dad's heart, it really would. He loved you both. You were both the loves of his life," Freddie told them, echoing his father's words from the dream. "Neither one of you could ever replace the other. He didn't love either one of you more than he loved the other. He loved you both the same, just in different ways. It was never a competition for his love. He had enough love for the both of you. Don't you see that? 

Mary and Jim both listened, quietly contemplating his words, and then all at once it was as if Mary snapped back to herself.

"So is that it then?" she asked, taking her hand away.

"Yeah, yeah," Roger said, but he, Freddie, and Jim couldn't hide the disappointment on their faces. "You're both free to go." Mary stood up from her chair.

"I must be going. The children - they're with the nanny."

"Of course, Mum," Freddie said. "Here, let me show you out." So Freddie showed her to the door, but just before she went out, he hugged her tight.

"I love you, Mum," he told her, trying his best to be understanding. At least she'd tried. Then Freddie took her hands in his. "Listen, Mum. Dad loved you so much. You needn't try and horde him and keep him all to yourself. Nobody could ever steal him away from you. And it's ok for you to open up and trust people, you know. It's ok for you to let other people love him too," he told her, relaying his dad's message to her. But to this Mary said nothing, merely kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you, too," she told him. Then she went out and got into her car and drove off. But she didn't go home. She drove over to Garden Lodge and rushed inside and up the stairs to Freddie and Jim's bedroom. There were some framed photographs of himself that Freddie had placed for Jim on his side of their bed. Jim had wanted the photographs to remind him of his life with Freddie, and Mary had denied him his request. But now, she very carefully gathered the photographs into a cardboard box. Phoebe had also left behind two suitcases full of his belongings. Mary went and retrieved these from the loft. After she'd got everything stowed away in the boot of the car, she drove back over to Freddie's house. Freddie was quite surprised when there was a knock and opened the door to find his mother standing there with the cardboard box in her arms, and the two suitcases beside her. 

"Mum!" he said. "Here, let me help you. Come inside." Freddie took the two suitcases and set them down inside. He shut the door, then turned to his mother. "What's this all about, Mum?"

"Could I see them for a moment? Jim and Peter?" his mother asked.

"Um...sure," Freddie said. "Phoebe! Jim! Could you come in here for a moment, please?" As soon as Jim walked into the room and saw what was in the box, his face lit up.

"The photographs!" he beamed. 

"And my suitcases!" Phoebe was delighted.

"I just wanted to say, I'm sorry," Mary said, clasping her hands in front of her. Phoebe came over and hugged her.

"Thank you," he said. Jim came over and hugged her as well. Then Mary stepped back.

"Well, I'd really better be going this time," she said, fidgeting nervously with her hands. Finding nothing else to say, she turned and walked back towards the front door. Freddie followed and opened the door for her. He hugged her close once more.

"Thank you, Mum." Freddie took one of her hands in his. Mary stepped back, placing her other hand along his cheek.

"No, thank you, Freddie," she told him. Then she returned to her car and drove away.

Freddie smiled to himself as he shut the door. Things between Jim, Phoebe, and his mother were far from perfect, but this seemed like a very promising start, and given a little time, patience, and understanding, he knew things could get better.

*******

Later that night, after Kashmira had gone to bed, Mary sat watching Garden Lodge's security cameras. Not many people dared to venture too close to the wall now that she'd put up a sign warning that “graffiti is a crime” and pointing out that security cameras were in operation. But tonight there was a lone fan outside Garden Lodge gate, beside herself with grief and crying her head off. Mary lit a single candle in a glass holder, then put on her long coat, pulling the hood up over her head to obscure her face. Then instead of going out the front doors of Garden Lodge, she walked over to The Mews and slipped out a back way. She came over beside the place the fan knelt on her knees, and placed the candle in front of the wall, where once Freddie's memorial and shrine had been. Looking over she saw the girl shivering, and quietly snuck back inside, returning five minutes later with them each a mug of piping hot cocoa. The girl thought it an unexpected and kind gesture on such a chilly April night. Mary tried to comfort her and they talked for a long time about how wonderful Freddie was. Mary hung on the girl's every word of praise for Freddie and she guessed the girl thought she was just another fan driven to pilgrimage. In a way she was right. As they sipped the warming drinks, they talked for a while longer and then Mary said: 

"Well, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go to bed now." She got up and stuck the key in the lock, quite forgetting about disguising her identity.

"What is this?" the girl asked. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"What do you mean?" Mary said

"How are you able to open the gate?" the girl asked.

"I live here," Mary said. “I’m Mary Austin.” She pulled back her hood, revealing her face. The poor fan just didn’t know what to do. Mary invited her into the garden to see the vast patchwork of colorful flowers and the twinkling tiny white fairy lights Jim had hung for Freddie in the Magnolia trees, making the place look like a fairy grotto. They talked for a little longer before the girl left and Mary went to bed. And as she went, Mary thought of the smile on the girl’s face, brought about by such a simple act of kindness, and she thought perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all, if a small section of the outside wall were reserved as a place where the fans could come and pay their respects, and feel close to Freddie, the man whom she and they both loved so dearly.

*******

That night, Freddie sat on the edge of his and Mary's bed, lost in his thoughts. It had certainly been an emotional roller coaster of a day, though not all bad. Mary crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"Still worried about your mum and Jim?" she asked. "Come here and let me take your mind off of it," she said. So Freddie let her. And she did. And then Freddie returned the favor, and by the time they were through, neither one of them had any trouble falling asleep whatsoever.

However, this time when he emerged from the tunnel, he wasn't in the dressing room. He walked through what felt like a wall of heavy drapery and found himself in someplace dark and hot and the roar of the waiting crowd was even louder than it had been before. While he waited for his eyes to adjust he heard:

"Pssst! Freddie! Over here!" He looked to his left and saw his father standing only a few feet away, and he realized they were standing in the wings. When he approached, his father held out a plastic cup of beer to him. "Well done," he said with a wink. "Cheers." Little Freddie took the proffered cup from his father's hand.

"You're actually letting me have a beer?" he asked.

"Of course. You've earned it. You deserve it," his father told him. Little Freddie took a long, deep drink.

"My God! That's literally the best beer I've ever had in my entire life. And I'm being serious," he said.

"Well, I'll pass your compliments along to the bartender," Freddie said. "He does this neat trick, you know - turning water into wine. But I asked him if he wouldn't mind making it two beers this time instead. And well, there you are," Freddie laughed. "I've always wanted to do this you know," he said.

"What?" Little Freddie asked.

"Drink a beer with you. I suppose that's something most fathers look forward to, the day they can sit down with their sons and drink a beer together, just the two of them," Freddie said. "I only wish we had more time…"

"What do you mean, Dad?" Little Freddie asked, though he already knew.

"Showtime, Freddie," his father told him. "Time to go." Little Freddie immediately burst into tears clinging to his father. 

"No! No! Please, Daddy, please!" Freddie hadn't heard Little Freddie call him Daddy in a long, long time now. First he looked around for a place to set their beers, and then for a chair. Luckily there just happened to be one nearby, and he sat down, Little Freddie on his knee. And neither one of them stopped to think how absurd it was - a grown man sat crying on his father's knee. And Freddie didn't care. As far as he was concerned Little Freddie was his baby and he could never get too big to sit on his lap - not even if he were a hundred! If he needed comfort, then by God he would have it! And Freddie dared anyone to say anything about it! So he sat there cuddling Little Freddie as if he were six years old again, and Freddie was about to leave on tour.

"Shhh. There, there," he said. "Don't cry, darling. You know I've never liked to see you cry."

"But it's not fair!" Little Freddie protested, sobbing.

"No, darling, you're right. It's not fair. It's dreadfully unfair, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But listen to me for a moment, darling, alright? Are you listening?" Little Freddie nodded his head. "Despite what everybody says, Freddie, it was my time to go. Rock n' roll is a young man's game. And my only regret is leaving my friends and family behind. Especially you and Kashmira. And if I would have had any idea, any inkling about the way things were going to go, I never would have...But you see, Freddie, when you're a young man, as you are, you think yourself invincible, untouchable. You think, _ that's something that happens to other people, but it'll never happen to me. _Until it does. And by then, it's too late. By the time AIDS was discovered, I was already infected, and by the time I found out I was sick, there was nothing they could. If I could go back, and I had it all to do over again, yes, why not? I would do things a bit differently. But that's not how it works. We only get one chance. And so I hope that you will learn from my misjudgments, and not make the same mistakes I have made. Because in a sense, I actually am getting another chance, another chance to go back and do things right this time. Through you." Freddie took his son's face in his hands then and looked him in the eyes.

"But I don't want to go! I want to stay right here with you!" Little Freddie cried.

"I know, darling, I know. I don't want you to go either. I wish we could both stay right here together forever, but we can't. We don't have a choice. We have to do what we are told, so the sensible thing is to make the most of it." Freddie rubbed his back. "Kashmira, your mother, Jim, Phoebe, Brian, Roger, John - they all need you, and I need you to look after them for me. It's like that song Brian and Roger wrote for me: _ And everywhere the broken-hearted, on every lonely avenue, no one could reach them, no one but you_...That someone is you, Freddie...And what about Mary? Surely, you wouldn't leave her alone. I know you'd never do anything to hurt her, and she's going to need your help, especially now." Little Freddie didn't understand what exactly his father meant by that last statement, but he was right. The very thought of leaving Kashmira or Mary alone broke his heart, and he knew he couldn't do it. He had to go back.

"Ok. Alright," Little Freddie agreed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"That's my boy," Freddie told him with a wink and a smile. He took his face in his hands and gave him a kiss. "_ Inside my heart is breaking, my makeup may be flaking, but my smile, still, stays on...the show must go on… _" He wiped away Little Freddie's tears with his thumb. Then he stood up, taking Little Freddie by the hand. They walked back through the curtains, back the way Little Freddie had come. They stopped and Freddie held him tight, giving him one last hug.

"I love you so much, Freddie. Don't ever forget how much I love you. And you know I'm always with you. Even when you can't see me, I'm right there beside you." He let go of his son and stepped back. "And don't worry about me up here. They're looking after me," he said with a smile. Then Little Freddie began to feel the familiar tugging sensation and a blurring around the edges of his vision as he was pulled back down the tunnel.

"Bye, Dad. I love you," he spluttered, still wiping away tears from his face.

"It isn't goodbye, Freddie. Just 'see you later'," Freddie told him. "One day we'll be together again, but until then, I'll be right here waiting for you." And with those words, his father faded from his sight.

*******

When Mary woke up, she found Freddie sat up in bed beside her, crying. She immediately sat up and put her arms around him.

"Oh, Freddie, darling! What's the matter? What is it?"

"I just miss my dad," he managed to choke out between sobs. It was like losing his father all over again.

"I know, sweetheart. I know it must be so hard. But I'm right here, darling. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be right here by your side the whole time, and we're going to get through this thing, together, just like we always do. I promise. I know it might not seem like it right now, but things will get better in time. You'll see."

And Freddie realized Mary was right, and also that this is not what his father would have wanted, not what he himself had done, even when faced with his own death. Breaking down and crying like this about something you couldn't change was pointless and a waste of time, time that could be better spent doing other things. There was work to be done. So he got up, got dressed, and went into the studio with The Sons of Queen and lost himself in the music.

Nighttime was harder, and one evening Freddie thought he couldn't take this shit one minute more without a beer to help him through. So he went over to the fridge, opened the door, and as his hand touched the bottle, he waited for the smack on the arse, the one and only time he'd ever wished for a spanking, just to know his father was still around. But nothing happened. _ Fuck it_, he thought. He really wanted this beer. But just as he was about to pop off the cap, he stopped. _ No_, he told himself, and he put the beer back in the fridge, and went to cuddle on the couch with Mary and watch telly instead. And at night, lying beside each other in bed, he and Mary put their arms around each other, and held each other close until they both dropped off to sleep somehow.

And so in this way time passed, and before any of them knew it, three weeks had gone by. The Sons of Queen finished their first album, thirteen songs, including the hits _The __Sons of Queen, My Father’s Son,_ _Flat Chested Women_ (the lyrics having been slightly reworded of course), _Aeroplane Race_, and _I'm In Love With My Bin Lorry_ (dedicated to Oliver, George, Fanny, and all of London's hardworking bin men and women). The album went straight to the top of the charts and was a big hit, especially with London's working class and Queen fans worldwide. And now they were ready to embark on their UK tour, the first venue being in Basingstoke.

The day of the first show, Freddie was downstairs getting ready, when he heard Mary scream from somewhere upstairs.

"Oh my God! Freddie!" Freddie didn't think he'd ever flown upstairs faster than he did then. He found Mary standing in the bathroom. She held one hand over her mouth, while she stared down at something she had in the other. Freddie rushed over to her. 

"What is it? What?" 

She held out the object to him and he took it in his hands. It was a pregnancy test with a + in the little window. Freddie just stared down at it. 

"What-what does this mean?" he asked. He couldn't even get his mind to think straight.

"It means I'm pregnant!" Mary told him. "We're going to have a baby!" She hugged him tight, wrapping her arms around his neck, while Freddie just stood there in shock.

Later, while Mary phoned her mum ("Mummy, I've got something to tell you…") Freddie went back downstairs and phoned his own mother and asked her to come over. Once his mother arrived and was sat comfortably on the sofa, Freddie went out and called Jim in as well, who at the moment had been helping the neighbor Mrs. Brown replant some of her flowers that had mysteriously gone missing about three weeks before. Jim and his mother were cordial with each other and sat beside each other on the couch, waiting expectantly to hear the news.

Freddie and Mary stood in front of them, and Freddie put his arm around Mary's shoulders.

"Mum, Jim," he said. "Mary and I have some very exciting news, and we wanted to tell you both at the same time, in person." He looked lovingly into Mary's eyes. "Apparently, Mary and I are going to have a baby. You're going to be grandparents." His mother and Jim sat there for a moment in stunned silence, then his mother gasped, a hand held to her mouth.

"Oh, Freddie!" And there were tears of joy in her eyes. Then Jim turned to her and they hugged each other.

"Congratulations, _ Nanny._"

"You too, _ Pop-Pop_," she said. Then she came over and hugged Freddie's neck. "Oh, Freddie. Your dad would be so proud."

*******

All the way to Basingstoke, Freddie felt as if he were floating on a cloud. He couldn't believe it! He was going to be a papa! And now they were about to play their first real gig. Nothing at the moment could bring him down! When they arrived in Basingstoke, Freddie was all smiles as they checked in at the hotel, and then met at the venue for soundcheck. They were playing at Queen Mary College, as a sort of throwback in remembrance of their fathers - this was the very same venue Queen had played after releasing their first album _Queen_. And the show to see The Sons of Queen was completely sold out! After the soundcheck was finished, they went back to the hotel for a little while, leaving the crew to carry on getting things ready for the show. They returned about two hours before showtime. The plan was drop off their bags in the dressing room where Phoebe and Jim already awaited them, and then head over to the crew catering area to have tea or coffee or just a little snack to keep them going before showtime. But when Freddie walked into the dressing room, he froze dead in his tracks. It was the exact same room from the dreams, right down to the three metal folding chairs against the back wall, and Robert's bass guitar he'd leant up against the wall in a corner of the room.

"Freddie, mate, you ok? What is it?" Felix asked, seeing the look on his face.

"I've been here before," Freddie said, still in a daze.

"Here?" Felix asked, eyebrows raised. "When?"

"I...I…" Freddie stuttered, at a loss for words. _ Snap out of it, Freddie, _ he told himself. The others were beginning to stare. "Must just be imagining things," he told the others with a smile.

"Oh. Sure you're alright, then?" Robert asked, clearly a bit concerned.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course! I'm fine!" Freddie gave a forced laugh, punching Robert playfully on the arm. "Let's get something to eat, yeah? I'm starving!" He headed towards the door. Jim, Phoebe, and the others all looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, then followed him out of the room.

After a bit of refreshment, they returned to the dressing room to begin getting ready, as Phoebe assisted them with their wardrobe, and Jim was there to help them get their hair looking just right. There was a lot of chatter, as they tried to hide trembling hands. “This room’s nice…”; “But that toilet’s disgusting!” Soon they were laughing and joking and taking the piss out of each other, to exorcise the tension and hyped nervous energy. Before long the tour manager arrived to lead the band on stage surrounded by their security. While they waited in the wings, Freddie just happened to look over, and there was a chair, and in the seat sat two unfinished beers. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up on end. There was no way all of these things could possibly be only mere coincidence, but Freddie didn't have time to think about that right now. The roadies had already put Jimmy's guitar and Robert's bass on them, and now the intro tape was starting. The crowd roared. The four of them looked at each other. Their moment had finally arrived. This was the point of no return. There was no going back now. It felt gladiatorial almost. It was just the four of them, between disaster and success. Felix, Jimmy, and Robert ran on stage, shrouded in smoke. The split second that the intro tape ended and Jimmy thrashed out his first chord, Freddie ran on stage and was picked out immediately by the spotlight. Showtime.

"Hey! Hello, Basingstoke! Okay, you want to get crazy?!" Freddie shouted, engaging the crowd. The crowd yelled its approval. "Alright! Come on, let's do it!" And the band immediately launched into their first song, the crowd cheering and singing along. After that, the entire show seemed to flash by like lightning, The Sons of Queen putting on a performance to rival even those of their fathers, and before he realized it, Freddie found himself sat down at the piano, having just finished playing the last song. They had definitely won them over, and amid the screaming and calling that followed the applause, he banged his fist hard on the piano lid to emit a low hollow resonance through the speakers. Then something at the corner of his vision caught his eye. He turned to look and there was his father standing at the end of the stage.

"Dad?" he asked breathlessly.

"Now, that's the way to fucking do it!" His father told him with a wink, and then turned and walked away, disappearing into the wings. And it was at that moment that Freddie realized it hadn't been his own show his father had been preparing for in the dreams after all, but Freddie's. Freddie smiled to himself and then turned back to face the roaring crowd.

"Goodnight, Basingstoke! We love you!"

**The End**

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the kind comments, kudos, and support. It means a lot to me and I really appreciate it. I hope you've enjoyed it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I would really appreciate no criticism (constructive or otherwise), or negativity in the comments section, please. This is just my hobby that I do for fun. Thank you! :)
> 
> Copyright © May 20, 2020 DonnieTheFu All Rights Reserved
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any semblance between original characters and real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author in no way represents the companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this work. The likeness of historical/famous figures have been used fictitiously; the author does not speak for or represent these people. All opinions expressed in this work are the author’s, or fictional.***


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